Harry Potter, Virgin Extraordinaire
by The Ultimate Otaku
Summary: Handsome Blaise Zabini captures Harry's attention, spiraling change into Harry's life post-Hogwarts, post-Ginny. He's hot, honest, and Harry wants more than a one-night-stand loss of bi virginity. But can Blaise commit? And was he a Death Eater? COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_I have so much fun writing this! The first scene popped into my head so smoothly, and the fic has been going well since. This will be a chaptered fic, with both plot and sexiness. Harry and Blaise are tons of fun to write together. =3_

**HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE**

_by The Ultimate Otaku_

_Chapter 1_

Harry was in a Muggle club having the time of his life when he heard the word "Hogwarts."

He didn't look around right away. He kept dancing. The music was an intoxicating swirl around him, compounded by the writhing bodies on all sides. He was crushed by them, held by them, swayed by them. Strangers' hands, strangers who didn't know his name and didn't stare at his forehead, caressed him, kissed him, loved him. They bought him a drink, a few of them one each, until Harry was drunk enough that he wasn't staggering but he was moving slower on the dance floor. He glided from person to person, dance partner to dance partner, allowing himself the freedom to enjoy each a little before leaving. He enjoyed their gaze on him; he enjoyed their touches, their bodies, their gyrating, and their innocent, magic-less gazes that didn't want to take more from him than he wanted to give.

It had been a month since he had broken up with Ginny, after two years of dating her after the battle of Hogwarts. He knew that he should be heartbroken, and Ron and Hermione certainly seemed to think so, but…he wasn't. He wasn't heartbroken.

He felt rather free, actually. He could be who he wanted to be, without the expectations – of heroism from the press, of normalcy from Ginny. She had thought that now it was all over and he had her, all would be well. But it wasn't like that. Harry was haunted by nightmares, and he felt constrained rather than comforted at their shared flat, and even at the Burrow.

He'd moved out a month ago, and his life of a single bachelor in London, with loads of people who didn't know him as Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, but as Harry, their next door neighbor, or Harry, the guy with the mad hair, or Harry, their friend. There were many faces to Harry Potter, but there was only one Harry. Right now, he didn't feel like his friends wanted Harry around; they wanted Harry Potter, who was enamored with Ginevra Weasley. The Ministry wanted Harry Potter, the hero, the savior of the world. The world wanted Harry Potter, the poster boy, to smile for their cameras, banners, and newspapers.

But Harry, just Harry, wanted to be himself. So he'd been frequenting more and more Muggle places as of late, frustrated by his wizarding world friends. Here he was at a fantastic club, moving to the music, sunk in the sounds and breaths and gliding skin of his fellows, when some silky voice threw out that word, "Hogwarts", into the atmosphere.

Harry twisted himself around, and his gaze quickly scanned the crowd for someone who looked obviously out of place. That was the best way to find a wizard or witch, although maybe one enjoying this club would have learned how to blend in.

He hoped that whoever it was hadn't seen him. He was harder to spot without his glasses, which he had replaced with contacts tonight, but his hair still could give him away. Finally, his gaze paused at a woman slumped over the bar. She a wore purple, flowy dress that was almost like a pair of robes, and the painted nails of her hand, lying on the shoulder of the man next to her, matched her dress.

Her head turned, and Harry recognized the pug nose and unpleasant face. Pansy Parkinson. She had dark streaks of makeup spilled down her cheeks, and held a kerchief to her nose which she blew in loudly. Harry was surprised. She must be really a wreck to be out in public like that. He remembered her as being very fussy about makeup (at least, more so than his Gryffindor female friends) in school.

He switched his attention to the man that Pansy was now leaning against drunkenly.

Whoa. The man was gorgeous, young, with dark skin. He had a body like a Seeker, slender, but he was tall. His hair spilled over his shoulders in dark, messy waves, and his voice, when Harry snuck closer, was like an elegant, expensive wine. The voice alone made Harry want to get in bed with him.

Harry swallowed, and stared openly from a short distance. Something about the man was off in his head. Something he was supposed to know. He knew the man must be a wizard, for it was he who had said "Hogwarts", and perhaps he was an old classmate. But who was he?

The man murmured something to Pansy, whose head dropped like a stone to the bar in front of her. God, she was a mess. The man floated through the crowd, effortlessly, squeezing his way between people, twisting away from curious hands, all the way until he stood, quite suddenly, right in front of Harry.

"Harry Potter." The man smiled, and Harry felt himself caught by that flash of white teeth, the perfect, full lips, and the glint in his dark, dark eyes.

He held out his hand, and Harry gripped it firmly, giving it a good shake. He had stared enough, and he didn't want to look like an idiot in front of this gorgeous dreamboat. Even if the man had shattered his little world away from wizarding reality.

"Blaise Zabini," the name shot from Harry's mouth even as his brain fired the realization into him. "It's been a long time."

"It has, hasn't it?" Blaise smirked. Harry wanted to capture that smirk in his hand and then kiss it away with his mouth. "I think it was, what, Sixth year the last we saw each other?"

"The Slug Club," Harry laughed.

Blaise smiled at him again, and tipping his drink towards Harry, he downed it. "Come join us."

Harry nodded. As he followed Blaise back towards the bar, he took in Blaise's outfit. Snug black jeans hugged a round, perfect arse, and were paired with a tight black tank. A Slytherin-green vest displayed broad shoulders and showed off a slim waist. The black, sparkling belt matched the heeled boots that only made Blaise seem taller.

"Pansy, Potter. Potter, Pansy. Now sit."

Blaise pulled up a barstool on his side opposite Pansy. Harry looked over at the woman, who had only nodded dully in Harry's direction before sinking back into her drink.

Harry raised his brows at that and whispered to Blaise, "What's wrong with her?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Best not to talk about it." He ordered another drink, a green and pink thing in a glarse with an umbrella, and as he sipped it, he eyed Harry.

Harry felt himself flushing involuntarily as Blaise took him in, and he decided to order another drink, too. When it came, he dared to look back to Blaise.

"What happened to the glasses, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, taking a gulp before putting his drink back down. "They get tiresome sometimes. Plus, they make me stand out like a light bulb in the dark."

Blaise's brow furrowed. "Like a what?"

Oh, that was right. He had to remind himself he was talking to a wizard. After nearly a month of only occasional talks with Ron and Hermione, Harry had sunk a little too deeply into Muggle life. Wizards wouldn't be familiar with light bulbs, would they? Unless they were Arthur Weasley.

"Er…never mind. Point being, they bug me sometimes, so I've switched to Muggle contacts. For the night, at least."

Blaise sat back and took another sip of his drink. At the same time he seemed to study Harry's eyes, which made Harry nervous and giddy. He couldn't help it. A handsome man was staring at him…and he'd known for a while he was interested in men as well as women, but he hadn't done much with any man yet…if he wanted to do anything more than kiss another man, Blaise Zabini would be his first choice.

"'His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad.' Remember that?"

Harry laughed, but it was more like a bark. "Yes. Ginny sent that to me. I was all of twelve and it was embarrassing as hell."

The Slytherin read the discomfort in him easily, though Harry tried to hide it by taking another swallow of his drink. "Hmm. Things didn't work out so well with the youngest Weasley, I presume?"

Harry drank more, and then nodded. "You presume correct."

He let his chin rest in his hand, feeling a tad dizzy now, and waited for Blaise to speak next, but the Slytherin was engrossed in his drink. He finished it, licking his lips. Harry looked away. The sight of Blaise's tongue gave Harry way too many ideas. He wanted to kiss Blaise, and dance with him, and have that tongue all over him…a shudder shook through him, and he felt tingles of desire working into him. Shit.

"So," he said, to distract himself and break the silence, "How's, um, how are you? What do you do?"

Inwardly he groaned. _What do you do_ was the most boring, obvious question he could have thought of. He'd been around Muggles way too much. That was what they always seemed to ask first. It was all about work. Since Harry was an Auror, he always had to lie to the Muggles. They took his most common response – a joke that, "I'm a secret agent," accompanied by a smile – quite well.

"I work a couple jobs," Blaise replied. He was looking at Harry intently as he spoke, and Harry hadn't been looked at so intently in a long time. If he weren't attracted to Blaise, the look would have bothered him. It was like Blaise was trying to pick him apart. Harry was reminded distinctly of Severus Snape's gaze boring into Harry during his Hogwarts days. He squirmed at the memory.

"One job, the one I enjoy least, actually, involves Quidditch. I'm an announcer for games – World Cup, a Hogwarts House Cup, you name it. They hire me according to their needs."

Harry remembered Ludo Bagman pointing his wand at his throat and casting _Sonorus_, years ago during the Triwizard tournament. He thought that Blaise's smooth, seductive voice was far too titillating for a Quidditch game. He couldn't really imagine Blaise speaking in that quick, urgent, blustery fashion that most sports commentators, including Quidditch ones, used. The thought of Blaise speaking quickly sent Harry into a brief fantasy where Blaise was urging Harry, "Harder, faster," while Harry fucked him…

This particular thread of thought made Harry's breath squeezed in his throat, and his jeans were tighter, too. He hoped Blaise wouldn't notice, and was glad for the dark, smoky environment of the club.

"What's your other job?"

"Radio. You can thank me for all those horrible warbling Celestina Warbeck tunes. Although I don't often get to choose what plays. Thank me for the fast, hot songs with the techno."

Harry dipped his head in thanks, smiling. "I like those better. Molly Weasley plays too much Celestina Warbeck for anyone's comfort."

Blaise laughed. "Still friends with all of them? Except for the girl?"

Harry nodded, grimacing inwardly at the way Ginny was interrupting him, even here, even absent, from enjoying himself freely.

"Blaise, I wanna go soon." The voice was sulky and high, and startled Harry for a moment, before he saw Pansy's hand slithering over Blaise's shoulder and remembered the drunken, depressed woman. Some friend Blaise was being, really, but Harry didn't mind at the moment if Blaise had dismissed her, since it meant he got the dark Slytherin's attention, instead.

"Alright, Pansy," Blaise acceded, and with a nudge of his shoulder he toppled Pansy's hand off of him. His eyes sparkled in his grinning, gorgeous face as he held out a hand to Harry. "Dance with me."

Harry left his drink behind, left the world behind, and sped to the dance floor with Blaise holding his hand. But he dropped Harry's hand when he started dancing to the slow, wailing tune with the hard bass that thumped through Harry's ears and up into his bones. Harry moved to the tune, shaking his head to the rhythm, twisting and turning, but he was engrossed in Blaise dancing instead of himself and the beat.

The man had his arms raised in the air, his eyes shut, and he moved sinuously like a snake, one movement melding into another. His hips thrust, his forehead beaded with sweat, his hands ran through his hair, down his thighs, and back into the air. The rings on his fingers sparkled in the dim lights as he moved his hands in graceful, swirling motions.

Harry was entranced. He felt his cock pulsing in response to the delectable sight in front of him, and even though he kept moving, his eyes drank and drank in Blaise. He couldn't get enough. He wanted those graceful hands on his body. He wanted that wetted mouth on his. His cock wanted to grind itself against Blaise's body, or be tasted by that smooth tongue he'd glimpsed. He bet Blaise was good in bed, had to be, if he could dance like that.

The music beat rushed and got louder. Harry's hand was grabbed by a smooth, sweaty one, and Blaise pulled him deeper into the crowd, deeper into the intoxicating head rush. They danced apart, and then suddenly together, and Harry couldn't breathe. Blaise's dark eyes were locked on his, his mouth whispered Harry's name, and then his arm was sliding over Harry's shoulder, pressing Harry into him.

Harry gasped as long, quick fingers touched him, slipped down from his neck over his chest, scraped down his belly, and then Blaise's long, firm body was pressed up tightly against Harry, even as his hand caressed the hardening tent in Harry's trousers.

"Mmm. I knew it," Blaise spoke into Harry's ear. "That was the only reason I stayed this long. I saw you staring at me, and I read you like a book. I knew you wanted me."

Harry's tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and he groaned as Blaise's fingers bounced his cock, and then twisted with digging fingernails against his thigh. "Do you…do you want me?" he ground out.

It felt like a stupid question, a question someone clueless and vulnerable would ask, but with Blaise's hand so good and his cologne seeping into Harry's nose and his voice in Harry's ear, it was all Harry could manage. Something like a whimper, which was humiliating, fell out of him when Blaise's tongue slicked up his ear.

"I want you," Blaise purred, "like an alcoholic at the bar," he laughed. "Let me drink you up…"

They were moving again then, moving to the music, but this time Blaise's voice was in Harry's ear, whispering his name, "Harry, Harry," and his nimble fingers danced a torturous game over Harry's body. His hands found their way under Harry's shirt to tweak his nipples. He traced the scar on Harry's arm from Wormtail's knife, and somehow even that was good. His hips shoved against Harry once, hard, and then a hot, smooth hand eased down Harry's back to his arse, and Blaise pulled Harry tight to him.

"Room?" the melting voice suggested. Harry nodded.

They were swimming through the crowd then, and Harry hung onto Blaise's hand for dear life. When they reached the outside, Harry stumbled on the last step, and blinked against the street lamps' lights.

"Room? What…?"

Blaise turned back to smirk at Harry. "My place, my room. You think I wouldn't treat the great Harry Potter with class?"

For a moment that teasing tone threw Harry off, reminded Harry too much of old days at Hogwarts, but then he laughed. "But, what about Pansy?"

Blaise sighed. "She can handle it. She'll pass out, and I'll send someone else to bring her home."

He wrapped Harry in a tight embrace in a pitch black alleyway, and they left with a crack of Apparition.

_XOXOXOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXOXO_

_More soon! Tell me what you think, please._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for your reviews! =)_

_WARNING: This chapter gets a higher Mature rating. In case you hadn't expected (or wished!) it would, I thought I'd warn you.  
><em>

**HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE**

BY The Ultimate Otaku

_Chapter 2  
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The room they ended up in was elegant yet also homey and messy. Against one wall was a gigantic four poster bed with white, thin drapes and silver tassels on the pillows. Opposite the foot of the bed was a marble fireplace, with a moving portrait of a night landscape that reminded Harry a little of Van Gogh's "Starry Night." One door behind Harry was closed, and one a little ajar to his right he assumed led to a bathroom.

There was a piano shoved in one corner, sleek black, with a glass door leading to a balcony behind it. A vase of peacock feathers sat on top of it. In the corner opposite it were two gigantic bookshelves filled to the brim. Books were scattered on the couch parallel to the bed, and a half full glass of wine sat perched on the bedside table. A tapestry with a Latin phrase hung on the wall above the bed.

"Nice," Harry commented, not knowing what else to say. He smiled at Blaise, suddenly nervous. Why had he let himself be brought back to Blaise's place? He didn't like not having any idea where this was. And he had never done anything more than kissing with another male, so why start now?

Blaise's glittering eyes drew Harry in the moment he looked, and he remembered why he should start now, when Blaise pushed him onto the bed and straddled him. He was heavy over Harry, but with a comfortable warmth. His hands pushed up the tender skin of Harry's forearms until they pressed against Harry's hands, and drew Harry's arms up above his head. The heat of his arousal was undeniable, pressing against Harry's own, and his thighs were hard and muscular against Harry.

Harry hadn't been underneath a partner like this before, and it was exciting, to say the least. When Blaise suddenly began to grind against Harry, it felt so good. Pleasure wound hard in Harry's cock and spilled out to the rest of him, and he felt his breathing go ragged. Blaise pushed against him extra hard, and at the hard pulse and twitch of his cock, combined with the heat of Blaise's large arousal against it, Harry spat, "Fuck."

The Slytherin tossed his hair back behind his shoulders, and then smirked at Harry with a flash of perfect white teeth. "That's the idea, yes. You took the words right out of my mouth…"

He leaned down into Harry then, and Harry felt his heart speed up and his eyes widened. Blaise was even prettier up close, he thought, right before Blaise kissed him.

Kissing Harry had done before, but not like this. Blaise's mouth was hot and insistent over Harry's, and he soon had his tongue in Harry's mouth. His tongue was like a spell, turning Harry into mush as he flicked it here and there, tasted every bit of him, and then languidly caressed Harry's tongue. The effect was like a hand squeezing his cock, immediately hardening Harry more.

Harry moaned as Blaise's tongue thrust hard in his mouth, and when Blaise pulled away from the kiss they were both panting. Again Blaise licked over Harry's ear as he had in the club, and again a begging whimper gurgled up from Harry's throat. Blaise chuckled. He did it harder, longer, slower now, and his hand pushed up beneath Harry's shirt and his fingernails scraped over Harry nipples, which made Harry hiss. He moved to Harry's neck then, kissing and suckling it, and Harry had enjoyed mouths on his neck before, but again Blaise's was different, better, hotter, faster.

He wanted to see more of Blaise. Harry grabbed the sides of Blaise's vest, and the man obediently held his arms out so Harry could rid him of it. Next came the tank top, which Harry in his eagerness gouged a hole in with his thumb.

"Oops." He hoped Blaise wouldn't have a fit over that. He was rich, after all, and he might be finicky about his clothes. The tank top looked normal but it might've cost galleons and galleons.

Blaise only laughed, and pushed Harry's hand gently away, before he pulled the top over his head and let it drop to the floor.

Harry again drank in Blaise Zabini's beauty. He drank in the sweat at the hollow of Blaise's throat. He drank in the hard muscles in his arms, the tight flatness of his abs, the dark nipples, and the trail of hair that disappeared into those low-slung jeans. Said low-slung jeans revealed hips that were a little bony yet somehow sensual. And Blaise had more hair on his chest then Harry did. Harry raked a hand through it, down to a nipple, which he twisted, earning him a little moan.

He kissed Blaise then, kissed his mouth and his cheeks and his ears, tugged on an earring-ed earlobe with his teeth, and drifted his hands up and down the other man's back. Blaise appreciated his attentions, making little sounds, and his hands that rested on the bed now were tight against the sheets.

Harry was forced to stop his explorations when Blaise took Harry's shirt off, saying, "You have far too many clothes on."

"So do you," Harry whispered, and then laughed when Blaise gave him a surprised look.

"Let's improve on that, shall we?"

And suddenly those warm, soft fingers were easing beyond the waistband of Harry's trousers, where they teased his cock a moment. Then, so quickly, Blaise was stripping Harry; his trousers were gone, and then his underclothes, and he lay panting on Blaise's bed, flushed. Would Blaise like what he saw?

The burning in Blaise's eyes said yes. The way he eased off of Harry and then placed his hand on Harry's thigh said yes. The touch of his skilled, teasing fingertips up Harry's cock, said yes. Harry was erect now, if he hadn't been before, because of the way that Blaise looked at him. There was fire roaring in that gaze, and it seared Harry, and made him tremble.

"You," Blaise breathed, "are a hidden treasure. God, look at you…"

He stroked the back of his hand up Harry's cock in a very agonizing fashion, and watched as Harry gasped and squirmed. Then he was wrapping his fingers around Harry's cock, while licking his lips. That in itself was almost too much. Harry thrust his hips up hard into Blaise's hot grasp, moaning, "Please…"

A soft thumb pad began to stroke up, up, up Harry's cock. It was so soft he could barely feel it, and it drove Harry mad. With one strong hand Blaise held his hips down, and with the other he teased Harry like this. He licked his lips far too many times, and his gaze was glued to what he was mercilessly subjecting Harry to.

When his thumb brushed over the head of Harry's cock and teased the slit there, Harry thrashed his head back and forth, shouting something incoherent. In response, Blaise purred some sort of self-satisfied laugh, and then his thumb was rubbing harder, faster, all over Harry's cock, and then – Merlin! – He cupped and massaged Harry's balls with one hand, while his burning hot tongue, so wet and so warm, licked the head of Harry's cock.

"Mmm!" Harry pushed his hips up. His hands grabbed frantically at the sheets. "More, more you bloody bastard," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Blaise stopped his licking, and his dark burning gaze looked at Harry's face through half-closed lids. "How did you know? I _am_ a bastard."

Harry growled in frustration, and reaching out, he fisted his fingers in locks of Blaise's dark hair and pushed his head down, back to Harry's cock.

"I always knew Gryffindors were rude," Blaise murmured.

Next, his hand had stopped massaging Harry's aching, tight balls, and he wiggled one finger between Harry's belly and his cock, and began to stroke up and down. He leant down again, and began to feather little licks and kisses up and down Harry's cock. While doing this, he moaned over and over, and Harry was so high and so filled with pleasure at the combination of sensation and sound, and their sweat in the air. He had his eyes shut tight, and his breath was ragged.

Blaise's long hair tickled Harry's thighs as he licked. His teasing finger stopped stroking Harry, and instead, his hand slid back, and groped at Harry's arse.

"Wh-what," Harry breathed, and then moaned as Blaise's hand began to knead his arse.

"You've never done this before, have you?"

Harry blushed. "Um. No."

"Not even with a woman?"

Ginny flashed through Harry's mind, before he banished her. "Not, er, this part. Can you -" He was going to ask something like, can you not talk about it, or can you just not care, but then Blaise's tongue was lapping at his cock, over and over in long, hungry strokes. Harry found himself wheezing, "Don't…uhnnn…don't stop!"

Blaise obeyed, and the bed was shaking with every jerk of Harry's hips, combined with the fact that Blaise was grinding his body into the bed, instead of up into a hot mouth. And then Blaise's mouth was fully occupied, finally, because he suckled the dripping head of Harry's cock into his mouth, before suddenly and deliciously taking all of Harry's length in.

Immediately Harry was wrenching his hips back and then forward, up, up, hard into that amazing heat and wet. Blaise's slick tongue was teasing the underside, and his teeth scraped to make Harry growl and groan. Harry knew his grip on Blaise's curls was way too tight, but he couldn't seem to stop. He jerked his cock deep into Blaise's mouth again and again, harder, faster, and he knew he was making loud sounds for every thrust but he couldn't stop that, either.

His movements became sloppier, harsher, but Blaise handled it. His dark hands were hard on Harry's hips, guiding him, helping him, and occasionally he would give a squeeze to Harry's arse that only made Harry howl louder. For he was howling, a crazy, wild sound that turned into a long drawn-out groan. He came hard, and watched with his heart sped up and his mouth open as Blaise drank his semen. He watched the full lips work, he admired the hollowed cheeks, and he could feel Blaise's throat against him, and it felt good.

Then the Slytherin pulled away, gasping. Harry's eyes were transfixed as dark fingers shoved Blaise's trousers down, and with a growl in his throat, Blaise let his come spatter hard and fast over Harry's belly. His semen was hot against Harry, coating his stomach and thighs, and if Harry hadn't just finished, he would have shot his load at the sight. Blaise's hair was an absolute mess, and he stroked his cock, knowing Harry watched, before he collapsed alongside Harry on the bed.

They lay there panting. Harry stared up at the blank ceiling and felt a flush work its way down his forehead and all the way to his neck. He had just been sucked off gloriously by a man. By a fellow student of Hogwarts. By a Slytherin, and by Blaise Zabini, whose mother regularly murdered each husband she got.

Harry hoped that if he became Blaise's lover, he wouldn't get killed, too. Then he blushed more, that he had even thought that.

He turned his head and looked into Blaise's eyes. The dark man smiled. His gaze swept over Harry. "You look good like that," he murmured, "naked, with my come on you."

"Thanks," Harry laughed. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. He felt so good. His body was loose. His muscles didn't ache with tension as they always had around Ginny, even after sex (and he hadn't ever gotten sucked off by her, either. She hadn't wanted to). Blaise's bed was comfortable and the sheets were cool except where their bodies touched.

Harry turned his head again, and as Blaise rolled over onto his back, Harry's gaze roved over him pointedly. This was the first he was seeing Blaise naked. The Slytherin knew he was watching, and turned to lie on his side so Harry could see more.

There was a lot to see. Blaise's cock was big, and nestled in a thatch of thick curls. His legs were toned from some sort of exercise, and his feet were bony. He had perfect nails and perfect skin without a single mole, freckle, or scar. His skin was smooth like silk. His eyes were bright as he watched Harry appraising him, and he seemed to enjoy it, for his lips turned upwards. And his hair was the definition of the "just been shagged" look at the moment, though they hadn't, yet. Harry thought his own hair constantly had the "just been shagged" look, but he thought maybe Blaise's uncontrolled curls could give his hair a run for its money.

"How many people have you shagged?" he asked. It sortof blurted out of him, and he hated that he'd said it the minute the words left his mouth.

Blaise only smirked more. "A lot. Why do you want to know? Are you the jealous type?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Well, maybe. I can be. But I'm not horrible."

"Good."

After staring at him like that, Harry felt a little shy. He pulled his gaze away from Blaise, but really all he wanted to do was look again. So he looked again, and that made Blaise chuckle.

"Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, conqueror of the Dark Lord…and virgin extraordinaire. Merlin, even the way you _look_ at me tells me you're a virgin."

Harry barely heard him. He was distracted by Blaise's cock, which was hardening. He watched with baited breath. He'd seen himself get hard loads of times, but somehow this was so much better. He wondered what it would be like to –

He decided to do it instead of think about it. All this talk about his lack of experience was embarrassing. He shot out, "I've done women, you know," and then he was moving.

Blaise looked surprised as Harry leaned down, and without further ado, slipped his mouth over Blaise's cock.

Harry shut his eyes. He moved his mouth slowly over the head, and then dared to lick with his tongue, slowly, softly. He heard Blaise grunt, and opened his eyes. The Slytherin was staring at Harry in amazement.

"I didn't think you'd have the balls to do that, frankly," Blaise whispered hoarsely, "though I'm glad you do."

Harry nodded his head, and pressed his tongue harder, longer, over Blaise's cock. It was hardening faster now, and he wanted it to harden within his mouth. So he eased slowly forward, letting his tongue glide along the soft skin.

"You look good on my cock," Blaise panted, "Really good."

Harry concentrated on easing Blaise's cock into his mouth more, and when he had to take a break, he began to use his tongue again. He licked slowly at first, easy paced, but then as Blaise groaned and his cock swelled, Harry licked harder, faster. Pleasure was a heavy pit in his belly, a stinging in his eyes, and heat in his groin. Blaise was big, and Harry was hard-pressed to fit him in his mouth. With his stubborn will though, he sank his mouth over more, more, until the musky scent of Blaise was deep in his nose.

He savored the sensation of Blaise's cock in his mouth, embarrassed and glad that he enjoyed it so much, before pulling away. Then he sunk down again, up, down, licking, suckling. He was erect now, and so was Blaise. Harry couldn't fit him all in anymore. He wrapped his fingers around the base, and sucked as hard as he could.

"Merlin!" Blaise gasped. "I can tell you like it. Mmmph. Use your teeth on me, Harry. And your hands. All of it."

So Harry scraped with his teeth, and moaning, he slid his mouth off the head of Blaise's cock with a popping sound. He licked up and down the shaft, and the more he licked, the more Blaise began to tremble. His hands were tight in Harry's hair, on his neck, on his shoulders. When the head began to leak, Harry licked it, groaning. This was too good. He had wanted something like this for a long time, he realized – this level of satisfaction – and now it was here.

"God, Potter, Harry," Blaise breathed. And then he was loud, and his hands ripped at Harry's hair, because Harry was sinking his mouth over Blaise again and again, quick, rough. His cock was pulsing so fast, he was hard enough to burst, and he still had Blaise's come on him, dry now, and he didn't think he'd be able to swallow what was next, but he wanted to, because he wanted to make Blaise call him Harry again, and he wanted to look even better on Blaise's cock then he had earlier.

They were shaking and moaning, and then Blaise thrust in one more time and Harry drank, and drank. Semen leaked out of his mouth and he wanted to lick it up, but instead Blaise was holding the back of his head, pushing it down on his cock. He pumped his cock with his fingers, which made Harry even harder. When he was all done and had pulled away, he wiped Harry's hair back from his sweaty brow, and said, "Damn."

Harry grinned, and then with a sigh he fell over Blaise's body, and grinding against Blaise's thigh with a groan, he came hard. He didn't think he had come twice in such quick succession before. It felt good.

Blaise cleaned them up with a quick "_scourgify_," and then he grabbed Harry and pulled him into a hard kiss. They panted against each other when they were done, Harry lying over Blaise, and then he sunk readily and easily into Blaise's embrace, and closed his eyes.

He didn't sleep, but he dozed, and when he opened his eyes, the Slytherin was stroking his hands over Harry's scalp slowly. His fingers felt good on Harry, and Harry nestled closer, into Blaise's neck.

"Who was your first?" he asked Blaise curiously.

Blaise sighed. "You don't want to know."

Harry's mind leapt from name to name. "What, was it Malfoy?" He cringed.

Blaise laughed, looking down at his expression. "No. I've had him though – don't tell Pansy."

Harry grimaced, picturing Blaise with Draco Malfoy, and then he asked, "Why was she so upset?" He couldn't help but wonder.

Blaise sighed again. "It's him. Draco. She's in a big fuss because he's getting married, and not to her."

Harry lifted his head up. Seriously? "Malfoy's getting _married_? To who?"

"To whom. Daphne Greengrass's sister, Astoria."

Harry was flummoxed. He hadn't ever imagined Malfoy would marry so soon. And he himself had been planning to marry Ginny in the near future. He felt his stomach churn at the thought, now. She hadn't been right for him after all. He hoped, oddly, that Malfoy wasn't getting into the marriage too fast, and that Astoria Greengrass was pleasant.

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Shouldn't you be there?"

Blaise stroked through Harry's hair. "I will be. I'm arriving fashionably late. It's not till the evening anyway. I hope that when I'm done…I can come back to you, in my bed."

Harry licked his lips, and looked away. They hadn't gone all the way yet, but he knew they both wanted to. But what Blaise was asking for was something more, more than just a night's fling. Maybe. He wanted Harry that much? And did Harry want him that much back?

He looked at Blaise. The brunette was gazing at him calmly, but his eyes were intense, trying to read Harry again. He hadn't taken Harry's silence as rejection. He was waiting.

Harry leaned down. "Convince me," he whispered. "Convince me to come back tomorrow evening…"

Their tongues met, and dueled, before Blaise pulled away. "Alright. It's a deal."

Then Blaise was pulling Harry into another embrace, and his hands were all over Harry, worshipping him. They slid gently, so soft it was torture, up the back of Harry's neck and into his hair. He seemed to love Harry's crazy hair, working his fingers through it, twisting locks of it around his fingertips, and smoothing it back from Harry's forehead. He eyed the scar only a moment, and then his lips were there, swallowing the lightning bolt. Then he drifted wet kisses down Harry's face and to his neck. He sucked there, and nibbled with his teeth.

Harry moaned. He had wrapped his arms around Blaise, too, and he was slowly working his hands in a nervous, random fashion down to Blaise's arse. The Slytherin seemed to know what he wanted, for he shrugged his shoulders in a quick gesture that forced Harry's hands south quicker. Harry sat in Blaise's lap, ensconced there, with his cock hardening and the hard throb of Blaise's cock a breathtaking, wonderful heat beneath his arse.

Blaise's fingers teased Harry's nipples, rolling one between thumb and finger. Harry grunted, and pushed himself down more on Blaise's lap. His hands were almost on Blaise's arse now, fingertips touching that smooth skin. As a result of his pushing down, Blaise's cock was now firmly between his legs. The dark Slytherin groaned, and arched up to nestle his arousal further against Harry.

God that felt good! With a whimper, Harry sank down, and his hands reached to grasp the firm smoothness of Blaise's buttocks. He groped them, massaging. Blaise was grinding him in a different way now, grinding up into Harry's balls with his cock. And with every hard squeeze that Harry gave to that tight arse, Blaise panted.

The Slytherin became impatient and eased Harry down onto the bed again. He let Harry keep his hands on his buttocks, and seemed about to grind him again, but then he was moving Harry again, turning him onto his belly where his cock positively ached against the silky bedspread.

Harry had ideas of what was coming next, but it still surprised him when he felt the first tickle of Blaise's long hair over his arse. He shivered, sweaty and nervous. Warm, large hands pressed over his bare arse, not kneading, but simply touching. A lone finger stroked up Harry's spine, making Harry arch his back with a cry.

Then Blaise's confident hands were at Harry's hips, gripping tightly, and the cold tip of a nose pressed against Harry's buttocks – oh god! – and then, in one smooth gliding movement, he was being fucked by Blaise's tongue up the arse. Blaise thrust his tongue in fast, and then swirled it deep in. Harry felt his blood rushing and heard his heart pounding. The next thrust of Blaise's tongue made him cry out, a choked sound, and he knew he was pressing back into that wonderful, sweet sensation now. It was just too good.

Humming, Blaise worked his tongue in Harry, lapping and thrusting. His hands were hard on Harry's hips, bruising. His tongue was so damn hot. Harry was disappointed when the tongue left, but then it was suddenly replaced by the strange sensation of one long, wet finger. The finger was different, rougher, but it reached deeper into Harry and made him groan in surprise and pleasure. When it crooked in him, ripples of pleasure spiraled up his body.

That first wet finger was joined by a second, and now Blaise was grunting and moaning as his fingers thrust harder into Harry. He seemed to enjoy the sight of his fingers going up Harry's arse. Harry pictured Blaise's expression, and liked it. In response to those fingers, Harry pushed back with a wheezing sound that was high-pitched. "More," he breathed, "Faster, too…"

He heard the smile in Blaise's voice. "Someone's hungry and wants to be filled up…filled with cock, that is."

Blaise's fingers thrust in faster, three now, and they pressed so deep inside Harry. So deep! He was immediately harder than he had been, and he didn't think he could breathe. He felt on the edge of something, like Blaise had almost hit something amazing there. "Oh," he managed to gasp, "Merlin…"

"I'm not Merlin," Blaise laughed, "My name is Blaise. Use it."

So when Blaise alternated in tonguing Harry's arse with swirling three hot fingers inside him, widening the channel, Harry gasped, "Blaise!"

Long fingers wrapped around his cock and pulled. Harry groaned. That shiver-inducing voice swirled into Harry's ear, close now, and he could feel the alarming, delicious heat of Blaise's hard, hard cock against his buttocks as the other man leaned over him. "Would you rather do it like this? Or do you want to be on your back?"

Harry tried to force his tongue to move in his mouth. He was panting from eagerness and nervousness, and his cock was slick with sweat, and Blaise's teasing fingers alternately stroked and tickled. "I, I, either one," he stammered.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for all the reviews! =) I left it at a weird spot and wanted to continue, so here is a quick update. (No Mpreg, sorry all - it squicks me).  
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_Oh, and I decided for this fic that Lupin didn't die in the Battle of Hogwarts. It doesn't really come into play, but yeah...he didn't. =)  
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**HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE**

By The Ultimate Otaku

Chapter 3_  
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_"Would you rather do it like this? Or do you want to be on your back?"_

_Harry tried to force his tongue to move in his mouth. He was panting from eagerness and nervousness, and his cock was slick with sweat, and Blaise's teasing fingers alternately stroked and tickled. "I, I, either one," he stammered._

"Hmmm."

Blaise seemed to contemplate him, hovering for a moment more, and then turned Harry back over and situated him up by the headboard. He propped Harry up on the pillows, to which Harry snorted, "I'm not a baby, you know. You can do me against the wall if you want."

Blaise smirked. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

"I'm serious," Harry said, "Beds are boring."

Blaise rolled his eyes and sighed. "You Gryffindors are so fucking stubborn." He smiled.

Harry smiled back. "Actually, it's just how I am."

Blaise leaned into him. "Come here, you stupid fuck," he whispered. "I'm going to fuck you until you're hoarse from screaming."

Then he grabbed Harry and pressed a hard kiss to Harry's mouth. His hands were in Harry's hair and he wrenched Harry violently up from the bed. It hurt. Harry was surprised and off balance. For a moment Blaise sagged under Harry's weight, and his leg slammed into the bedside table. The wine glass crashed to the floor.

Moaning, laughing, they treaded backwards, almost stumbling over the edge of the carpet.

They stopped when Blaise's back hit a closet door. "Here?" he asked Harry.

Harry's gaze darted around the room. This was interesting. His stomach had butterflies in it out of nerves, but he was hard as hell, and he was laughing. It was a funny, fun combination that he would never have gotten with Ginny. He liked that Blaise was willing and eager to fuck Harry on various surfaces. Harry had never really had the chance to be kinky before.

"No," Harry decided. "I don't want splinters."

"The piano?"

They laughed. "Too loud," Harry said, "You have neighbors, right?"

"Yes, but they're used to odd things from me. Come here, you,"

He grabbed Harry again, this time by the hips, and in a slow fashion, they meandered backwards. Harry felt he needed half his mind on his feet to not trip, but Blaise wouldn't let him think. He had his hand stroking Harry's cock, and he was giving little kisses and licks to Harry's nipples, mouth, and the tight sac of his balls. With all of that, it took forever for them to reach the piano, which they did with a resounding cruuncch as Harry's backside hit the keys. He was breathless, and he wanted Blaise's huge, hard cock inside of him.

Blaise didn't miss a step, and pulled Harry off of the piano. Fast now, panting, he moved them. Harry fingered the head of Blaise's cock, scraping a little with his nails. This caused Blaise to stop suddenly. His eyes shut, and a low growl came from his mouth. He sounded like a purring cat. The sound alone made Harry's cock twitch.

"Fucking Harry," Blaise whispered. His eyes opened, and the stroke of his gaze over Harry's body was like a predator with his prey. It felt like a thousand fires lit within Harry then, and he was trembling and compliant when Blaise suddenly pushed him up against the large glass door.

"There," Blaise whispered throatily (effectively making Harry's erection positively hurt, just by the tone), "now the world can admire your arse, and my cock enjoying said arse."

He ducked down, and his mouth thoroughly wetted Harry's hole so much so that Harry thought he was going to come too fast. Blaise stood up, and said, "One moment."

He flung himself over his bed and scrabbled in the bedside table drawer. He returned with something in each hand.

"First," he licked his lips, eyeing Harry up and down again. Then something cold and hard slipped over the head of Harry's cock, and down.

"What?" Harry blinked down at it.

"So you won't come all over me this very second," Blaise explained easily. "And now -"

He popped open a little tube of lube, and pressed it into Harry's hands. "Here's your excuse to touch it more before you really, hm, get a feel for it." He laughed.

He flashed Harry that amazing, gorgeous smile, and Harry laughed, too, realizing Blaise meant his cock. He felt shy and embarrassed and indignant that he was being teased. But Merlin, he couldn't say no either, could he? Blaise's cock was beautiful, swollen in need, flushed and dark. Harry scraped one finger up it before squeezing lube into his hand. He coated Blaise's cock slowly, starting from the base. The more he did it, the slower he became, because he was so busy staring. He swallowed hard, watching as his fingers slipped over the smooth skin and made it wet and slick.

When he was almost done, his fingers twisting around and around, Blaise's voice broke his reverie in a low murmur. "If you stare at my cock any more, I'm going to blow it in your hand. Fuck, do you know you have the worst eyes in the world? They're like alcohol. They burn in my throat and they make me feel good inside. And if I take too much, I'm happy to screw whoever looks at me. Merlin!"

He kissed Harry then, hard and long. His tongue fluttered in Harry's mouth, his hands mashed Harry's against the glass to either side. He pressed Harry up against the glass door so that Harry shivered at the sudden cold touch. Harry was sandwiched between cold and heat, so it was extra alarming when the hot, full heat of Blaise's cock flowed into him. He made some sound at the sudden invasion, but kept kissing back.

Blaise was so _filling_ and so _warm_, it was amazing. The pain was there, but Harry ignored it. He liked the way Blaise moaned and the way Blaise just let his cock sit within Harry for a few moments. Then he pulled out slowly, sighing, and then slipped inside again. He did this a couple times, slow, slow.

There was nothing comparable to the heat and hardness of Blaise's cock within Harry. It made pleasure flood through his limbs, and a flush rode its way down his face to his neck again. Blaise watched, laughing.

He pressed into Harry again, moving a little more quickly, and Harry moaned. That cock was so thick in him, edging in and out, caressing him, and sending pulses that rocked through him. He knew his cock was so hard and flushed now. It shook in a torturous manner with each of Blaise's thrusts, and only the ring on it stopped Harry from coming.

When Harry twisted against Blaise, closer, clenching against that hardness, the motion seemed to immediately force Blaise's cock deeper within him. Oh, he wanted more of that. Merlin, who knew that fucking a man would be so good? Or rather, being fucked. The Slytherin growled into his ear, "I _love_ your response to a challenge. Yes!"

Then he was thrusting into Harry harder, faster. Harry was clenching tightly against the delicious, wondrous sensation, and the harder Blaise's thrusts became the less he could breathe. A low keening sound worked its way up his throat, as Blaise established a steady pace. This felt so _good_. He didn't think he'd ever treated his body so well to something so sumptuous, so sensual.

That hard cock was filling Harry up with each thrust, pressing against him, slippery, pulsing, and Blaise's tongue was over Harry's ears and in his mouth. All of it at once was stealing Harry's composure. He knew he whimpered. He was beyond swearing, or thinking, he was all about the sensation rocking into him and filling him up, in every way, every part of him.

When Blaise slammed into Harry roughly, Harry gasped. Some spot within him, sensitive and sweet, was caressed by Blaise's cock, and it rolled Harry up in so much goodness that he might have screamed. When Blaise did it again Harry grabbed onto Blaise's shoulders and cried out his name.

"Harry," Blaise whispered, "_Harry_…"

His hands lifted Harry's legs up to wrap around his waist, and he angled deeper. He braced himself against the wall better, and began to pound Harry against it, urgent. Oh Merlin! Fuck! He moved so hard and fast that Harry was jiggling. One, two, three turned into onetwothree, hard hard hard fast fast fuck fuck it was like flying on a broomstick, way in the sky, except it wasn't light, it was heavy. It was heavy pleasure ringing in Harry's every atom; it was Blaise's heavy cock gliding up his thigh and striking deep within his core; it was heavy because Blaise's hot, moist breath was on Harry, it was heavy because Harry's cock was aching.

Harry's hair made static, crackling noises against the glass. Every stroke of Blaise's cock within him brought out a frantic, begging, loud cry. He knew he murmured things about "more" and "yes" like a mad man, and when he writhed and clenched over Blaise's cock, the dark man only moved faster.

They were both loud, enjoying each other. Harry held onto Blaise's shoulders, scraping, bleeding the soft skin, and Blaise was all over Harry, kissing him, licking him, holding his back, holding his buttocks, pushing himself deeper into Harry. He ran his hands down Harry's belly once, and rubbed a thumb over Harry's cock. That made Harry's cock positively hurt, and he gasped, "Oh, p-pleease…!"

"Please…what?" Blaise panted. He looked beautiful. His muscles bunched again and again. His arms were taut, helping hold them up. His hair was falling into his face, and sticking sweaty to his neck. Sweat ran down his body, and Harry licked it, moaning softly, before he answered.

"Please everything," he hissed as Blaise hit that spot especially hard again, "Please don't stop."

He shut his eyes, listening to Blaise's panting breath, the squeaks of the glass, and feeling wave after wave of pleasure roll over him and in him. He was drowning. He never had been a good swimmer. His body was so tight and good, and Blaise was perfect in him.

They moved faster together, hips thrusting. Sweat made Harry slide further down the glass, and Blaise followed, until finally they were on the floor, and there they lay on the deep red carpet.

"You look so _good_," Blaise moaned. He fucked Harry so hard and fast then that he couldn't say anything else. Harry watched his throat work, his hair shake, his cock entering Harry in jerky, fast motions. His hands were still clasping Harry's, holding him so tightly it hurt. Harry leaned up and held onto Blaise tightly, crying out the man's name in a chant, "Blaise, Blaise, Blaise."

Blaise growled like an animal. He arched over Harry, so they were chest to chest, and then his teeth dug deep into Harry's shoulder. It would have hurt, and it should have, except Harry was engrossed in the sensation of Blaise coming inside him. Blaise shot his load hard within, and it was wet and hot inside Harry, and he had never felt anything like it. It was a sensation he wouldn't mind having again and again, he decided.

Then Blaise pulled back and laved his tongue over Harry's tortured cock. His breath came fast in and out of his nose as he recovered. At one point he lifted his head and flung it back, and when that didn't get all of his hair out of the way, he shoved it back with one hand. Harry stared at the beautiful sight of Blaise, Blaise between his legs, naked, having just fucked Harry hard, his lips wet, his eyes glinting and dilated, his hair a tangle behind him, his body so gorgeous, slick with sweat still.

Then that teasing, cursed tongue was on Harry's cock again. Harry didn't like begging, but Blaise forced it out of him a lot tonight, it seemed. He found himself doing it again, making small noises as Blaise licked.

"Please, Blaise," he practically sobbed.

"You never break your word, right, Harry Potter? You'll come back tomorrow." The first part was a question, the second part was quite sure of itself.

"Yes," Harry gasped, "Yes, please, just…take that damn thing off me so I can…get some relief."

"Hmm."

A pause. Then in one quick movement the cock ring was off, and in a second quick movement Blaise had Harry's cock deep in his throat (fuck he must've done that a lot before), and in a third movement with a hoarse cry, Harry shoved into that heat, which he wanted more than anything in the world at the moment. He came the hardest he ever had, feeling drunk on it, emptying himself into Blaise's greedy mouth.

They eased closer to the bed, but Harry was too tired to get up. He dropped his head against the mattress and stared back into the mesmerizing gaze of his new lover.

"You're beautiful, you know," Blaise said. "And it's not just the eyes."

Harry reached out and grabbed Blaise's wrist, pulling him forward. "So are you."

The taller man leaned into Harry, pressing his face into Harry's hair and breathing in. There was something intimate about the gesture, and Harry found that he actually liked it. It made him feel so much less lonely, and it made him realize with a sweep in his belly that he'd missed being with his kind, with wizards and witches. There was nothing like connecting to them. Muggles just couldn't compare.

He wanted to be with Blaise more, he realized. He was curious. And he wanted this intimacy, the sweetness, which he could only have with a lover. But at the same time, he was afraid. What would it mean, to be with Blaise for more than a night or two? What was Blaise like out of bed? What company did he keep?

Harry wondered if Blaise wanted more than two nights out of him. Perhaps not. Perhaps he was just horny and enjoyed Harry's virginal reactions and wanted to fuck Harry senseless twice. Harry didn't want to suggest more and get a sour reaction. So far, he was enjoying himself far more than he'd set out to tonight.

He found that his hand had reached up into Blaise's hair and was stroking through it. Maybe he was tangling it more, or untangling it, it was hard to tell.

"What are you thinking about?" Blaise asked.

Harry licked his lips. "Just stupid stuff, and how different it is to live alone," he lied.

"You lived with the Weasleys before?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. And Ginny. But let's not talk about it. Actually, I was thinking about you, and tomorrow night." He smiled.

Blaise stared at him with eagerness in his eyes, and then he kissed the side of Harry's mouth softly. "Glad to hear it." Harry could tell he was more than glad, though.

They managed to return to the bed then, and Harry ended up with his head against Blaise's chest, and one arm flung over the other man. He shut his eyes and just basked in the warmth, determined not to think about too much anymore.

For a time, he slept. When he woke, they were in the same position. He felt sticky and gross, and when he made a move to get up and shower – what time was it? Sometime in the middle of the night? – Blaise pulled him back, saying, "No." He cast _scourgify_ on Harry to clean him, and then pulled Harry to spoon against him again.

Harry slept once more.

A nightmare throttled into his brain later, and Harry woke up with a shout, gasping. A warm hand stroked down his shoulder to rub circles against his chest. A hot breath hovered by his ear. "It's okay. It's okay. I'm right here with you. No one else is here. It's just us."

_It's just us. It's just us._ Harry chanted this within his mind as he shut his eyes, trying to force the nightmare imagery out of his mind. Fred Weasley and Voldemort and his parents roiled in his brain, and he felt his stomach heave in him a moment. He forced himself to repeat the chant mentally, and focused on Blaise's hand circling over his chest.

This calmed him. Harry was surprised. He'd had Ron wake him up for years in the dorms, always with a reaction of alarm that never made Harry feel any better. In later years, Ginny had woken up Harry in the middle of his nightmares, always making him feel disoriented when he woke. She had wanted him to talk about it – always wanting to heal him, kindly, but always wanting it done quickly – and whenever Harry hadn't wanted to talk, she had become like a sort of icicle, and later Hermione would tell him of Ginny's crying, and Harry had felt horribly guilty. But he couldn't _not_ have nightmares, and if he didn't want to talk about it, well, he didn't.

Blaise's quiet acceptance was a stark contrast. Harry leaned his head up and nipped at the other man's neck, whispering, "Thank you."

He slept again, and this time much more deeply. When he woke, he felt more refreshed than he had in a long time. He sat up, and that movement alone sent an ache through him.

"Ouch!" he almost shouted it.

A low chuckle came from beyond the rush of water in the direction of the bathroom. "Sore? Come in."

Harry eyed the neatly folded towel that had been set on the bedside table. Nervousness jumbled in him, but he took a deep breath and shot it down. He _was_ sore, and he wanted whatever Blaise could give him to help it.

It was morning now. Birds chirped outside the window, and Harry wondered, where was Blaise's flat located? It must not be quite in the center of the city. Or maybe Blaise lived near a park.

He stepped into the steamy bathroom, and grabbed hold of the dark hand that reached out of the cloud of steam. He gasped when the hot water spilled down his body, and then moaned.

"Good, mm?"

Strong hands worked into Harry's shoulders, hard, smoothly working the kinks out of his muscles. Harry sighed and let his head fall back to thud against Blaise's shoulder. It felt weird to be in the shower with someone, but Blaise's hands were _soo_ good.

He reached for the soap, washing himself. Blaise's hands moved down from his shoulders to his back, where thumbs pressed and kneaded hard, making Harry grunt. Then they were on his buttocks, and Harry moaned at the inviting touch.

Thank god it was Saturday, and he didn't have to go to work all sore like this. Aurors didn't have weekends, technically, but since Harry's first year when he'd been a workaholic, his boss had forced him to take off at least one day a week, two when it was bad.

Harry heard a rattle from his right, and his gaze caught Blaise's wand in his peripheral vision.

Immediately his Auror instincts reacted. Harry had no wand, but he'd learned how to disarm quickly. He pivoted sideways, snapping his arm down in one hard chop to the arm that held the wand. He heard a crack and a cry, and the wand fell to the floor. He shot his elbow hard into Blaise's belly, and whirled around, ready to send his knee cracking against the side of Blaise's head.

The dark man swore loudly, holding his stomach, and put one hand up in a waiving gesture. "Auror," he grit through his teeth in pain, "Right?"

Harry was breathing heavily. He stared down at Blaise's wand on the floor, and then back at Blaise. He lowered his knee. The dark man remained in position, one arm still up, and his other grasping his wounded stomach. He groaned in pain, and looked up at Harry.

His eyes were those of someone innocent. Harry felt uncertainty rush into him. He stared at Blaise, still shaking from the intensity of thinking he'd been suddenly betrayed, attacked. "What were you going to do with that?" he asked about the wand.

Blaise took a deep, whistling breath through his nose. "I was going to help your soreness with a spell. But now, if you'll let me, I'm going to help myself."

He made no move to get his wand, but Harry barked out, "Don't touch it."

Quickly, Harry leaned down and snatched the wand from the floor. Then he pressed it against Blaise's belly, between two of Blaise's fingers. He stared down at the other man, who stared back, and then he whispered a healing spell. Magic erupted yellow from the wand, and sunk into Blaise's body past his fingers.

Blaise sighed in relief as the spell worked itself. He lowered his arms very slowly. "May I stand up now? Merlin, you scared the shit out of me. What the fuck was that?"

Even though he'd said he was scared, Harry was surprised with how well Blaise was taking it. He was calm, and he had made no quick moves, as if he knew those would only make Harry warier. Harry supposed it was obvious, though, if you had done any dueling, or met any Aurors. They were always overly cautious, and Harry was the same.

What stood out most to him though was that Blaise, an associate of dark wizards (and son to an arguably Dark Arts practiced witch) who must be familiar with the Dark Arts in some way, had made no move to defend himself. It was something only an innocent person would do. And someone who wasn't ruthlessly trained by Voldemor or others to kill.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, "I acted instinctively."

He held a hand out to help Blaise up, but the man did not take it. He stood up on his own. Frowning, he looked at Harry through the still-running water path. "You acted instinctively, because you weren't sure you were safe. In other words, you don't trust me enough to know that I wouldn't hurt you."

Anger flared in Harry. He bit out, "I don't _know_ you, how can I trust you?"

Blaise shoved his left arm forward. "Do you see a Dark Mark? No. I was never in alliance with Voldemort, or any of his Death Eaters. Not even Malfoy. I know you're thinking that. And just because I'm attending his wedding today and I'm friends with Parkinson doesn't mean I'm some criminal. Trust me."

Harry sighed. Blaise was right. Just because this man was Slytherin, just because of the past, Harry had moved. Not every person lifting a wand made Harry freak out. It was his positioning, wand-less and with a person behind him, and his lack of knowledge about Blaise, that had made him react.

Harry's shoulder's sagged. "I can't," he said hoarsely, "I'm sorry." Nevertheless, he handed back Blaise his wand.

Blaise looked like he might answer sharply, nostrils flaring and brows furrowed, opening his mouth, and then he closed it. "Alright," he said, "I understand. I haven't proven myself better, I suppose. My mother has killed loads of people, after all, and everyone knows it. Therefore I'm assumed to be carved from the same wood. Well, the answer is that I'm not. Let me invite you to a dinner, and we can start getting to know each other better. I promise it's actually dinner, and not some scheme to kill you."

Harry didn't react to the joke. His mouth dropped open. Dinner? He thought Blaise just wanted sex.

"Um, don't you have that wedding to go to?"

"Tonight, yes. But I'm free tomorrow evening. Are you?"

Harry nodded dumbly. He had nothing planned, not even a drinking night with Ron or a visit to the Burrow, or any of his visits to other friends. Tomorrow he was free as a bird, unless he got called into the office.

"Yes."

Blaise relaxed, his body seeming to loosen. He stepped forward, and pressed his hands over Harry's cheeks as if to pull him into a kiss. "Good. Now can we resume where we were?"

Harry nodded, swallowing. "Yes."

And Blaise's hands were on him again, massaging his entire body, down from his arse to his legs, and back up. He cast the spell to heal, and immediately Harry felt the soreness decrease. Blaise finished before him, and went to prepare breakfast. Harry showered thoroughly, transfigured a toothbrush, and when he was done cleaning up, he put his clothes back on, and stepped out the ajar bedroom door.

He was in a long hallway which had wizarding portraits and paintings on it. Down the hall and to the left was a room filled to the brim with so many things that Harry wasn't sure what to call it in his mind. A large shelf filled with jars of ingredients seemed to beg, Potions room. A desk on the other side with papers piled high said office. And a motley collection of magical artifacts piled, tangled, and tilted against an entire wall said storage room. There were more bookshelves filled with books, and another rich marble fireplace.

Harry pulled himself away from this interesting room and stepped through a large archway on the right. Sunlight poured in the kitchen through a window and a skylight. Another glass door and balcony was in front of Harry, beyond a kitchen and a dining room. Stained glass on either side of the glass door and above it colored the cupboards and dining table shades of red, green, blue, and orange. He decided Blaise's flat was overall an odd mix of elegant and homey. He liked it.

He met Blaise at the table on the balcony, and sat down across from him. He was struck by the absence of house elves, remembering that Blaise came from a rich family. But he had said he was a bastard, hadn't he? And his mother had come into money by marrying over and over for it; perhaps Blaise hadn't been brought up wealthy.

Breakfast was quiet, at first, and then Blaise put down his cup of steaming potion and leaned across towards Harry.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

Harry was startled by the question. He sipped his coffee and nibbled at his treacle tart a moment. He wasn't sure if Blaise meant to ask if Harry was happy in general, or if Harry was happy after spending the night with Blaise.

He looked over the rim of his mug and said, "Yes. I'm happy." He smiled to prove it.

Blaise took a sip of his drink. "Good. The nightmares, then?"

Harry shifted in his chair, and looked away. There was a beautiful park across the street from Blaise's building. According to Blaise, it was a magical park, and was spelled to be avoided by Muggles. They couldn't even see it. All they saw was a potholed, old parking lot. To wizards and witches, it was a popular place to hang out, dance, and hold events. You could find pixies in it, Blaise said, and other magical creatures.

"The nightmares," Harry sighed, "are just there. They aren't making my life particularly any worse. They were, before, but…now I'm just resigned. I've gotten sort of used to them. I take Sleeping Draughts sometimes."

"Hmmm." Blaise sat back in his chair. "Do you talk to people about them?"

Harry shook his head. "Not really, no. Lupin, sometimes. And Hermione. That's about it."

"I see. Well, if it's any comfort, I have them, too."

Harry wondered what about, but he didn't say anything. He imagined with a mother as ruthless as he'd heard Blaise's was, something ugly was in the Slytherin's past. He finished his coffee and said, "Can I see the park?"

He followed Blaise's ambling gait out of the flat – which apparently, was spelled to be invisible but not quite Unplottable like Grimmauld Place. Everyone thought that Blaise was roommates with the blonde witch next door, who lived comfortably amongst the majorly Muggle occupants of the building. They reached the park, and Harry sighed and sat down right in the grass. He lay back, smiling.

Blaise sat down beside him. "I wonder what makes you enjoy this so much," he said. "It's just a bit of sun and trees."

Harry scowled. "Are you a reporter? Stop it."

The Slytherin assented. Silent, he lay down next to Harry, and shifted so that they were shoulder to shoulder. Harry cracked his eyes open and found the Blaise had his eyes closed. Good. He wasn't some curious, curious person that wanted each and every one of Harry's thoughts and secrets.

Harry didn't know why, but suddenly he found his hand creeping down to grab a hold of Blaise's hand. The other man brushed his thumb over Harry's hand, and then suddenly he rolled on his side and said, "I don't usually do this, you know."

"What?" Harry felt like he'd broken some wall that Blaise had put up, when he'd grabbed his hand. He wished he hadn't, and tried to pull away, but Blaise's hand held his hard.

"This. The park. Inviting someone to dinner…"

"Well," Harry tried to work saliva into his mouth beyond his angry and jittery feelings, "Why are you doing it, then? No one's asking you. Don't think I'm some sap. I can enjoy a good night's sex and then leave, it's fine."

Blaise laughed. "Right. You'd never even been fucked by a man before. I doubt you've ever had a fling in your life, draped over that Weasley girl."

Harry snorted. "I wasn't _draped_. I was stuck. And now I'm free. And I have had a one night stand, mind you, although it was with a woman. She was good. She didn't make a fuss about my scar or anything."

"Hmmm." Blaise contemplated him with an intense stare again. "That's what it is, isn't it. So many people want your body or your conversation because of your fame. They don't actually care about you. They don't give a flying fuck about Harry, just about Potter."

He had hit the nail squarely on the head, and it made Harry squirm. It also deflated his anger. "Yeah," he said shortly.

Blaise frowned, and then some mischief glinted in his eyes. He leaned down and kissed Harry, slowly, but his tongue was passionate. When he pulled away, Harry was gasping.

"You've got to stop doubting me, then," Blaise said, "Because I can give you a time, time of your life, both in bed and out. I've got to go get ready now, I'm supposed to bring a gift and have nothing yet. You're welcome to come with, or stay in the park as long as you like."

Harry thought about it, but although he was slightly curious what gift Blaise would get the Malfoy couple, he didn't really care all that much. Plus Blaise seemed to genuinely be Malfoy's friend, so he might take a while choosing a gift, and Harry wouldn't be able to appreciate it properly. "No thanks," Harry said.

"Alright." Blaise stood up, and turned back to Harry. "I'll see you later tonight. Come late, after eleven."


	4. Chapter 4

**HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE**

**by The Ultimate Otaku**

_Chapter 4_

_"I'll see you later tonight. Come late, after eleven."_

He Apparated out of the park then, and Harry stared up at the windows of Blaise's apartment, thinking. He thought over what they had done, and reveled in it, until he got hard. Then he took care of that, and thought more on what Blaise had said, rather than on what wonders he'd worked on Harry's body.

He seemed to understand that Harry needed to be just Harry, and he also seemed to be unafraid that Harry was, well, Harry Potter, and an overly cautious Auror. He liked to tease, but not in an actually biting way. Harry wondered what it would be like to hear Blaise on the radio, and he wondered what it would be like to go to dinner with Blaise tomorrow night.

He Apparated home, and spent the day on errands, shopping, and assorted entertainment (read: Quidditch magazines). He touched a couple case files, but only researched a little so he wouldn't feel behind if he got called in. He had a leisurely time cooking, because he was bored and had time to spare. When he sat down for dinner, he read the article on Malfoy's marriage, which was happening right now – it was eight p.m. – and a lot of reporters were there.

Harry snorted. Good. At least they were all over Malfoy right now, instead of him. He had put magical wards on his new flat just in case, but since he wasn't breaking up with anyone or killing any leftover Death Eaters at the moment, the press wasn't bothering him lately.

He washed his dishes with spells and then wound up back in his living room. It was an absolute sty at the moment, neglected out of habit, and he tried failingly to make it look a little better. But he'd never been any good at cleaning spells, so more of his time was spent chasing his mop all over his flat, and then cleaning up after that mess, than cleaning the original one.

He sat down grumpily on his couch at nine thirty, and positively itched to go flying. Night flying was amazing. That was the trouble with living in London and not being connected (purposely) to the Floo Network. Anyone having to visit him had to know him and Apparate, or know about the fireplace a few blocks away that was in the flower shop owned by a witch nearby. Harry only let those who were close friends know about it, in an effort to keep the media away.

If he flew alone, he knew he would lose track of time. He always did. But he knew he had to meet Blaise tonight. He wanted to. He eased back on his couch and rested his feet on the arm, and wondered, what would they do tonight? What surface would Blaise fuck him against? He chuckled. And what other wonders did Blaise have, besides that little ring that had stopped Harry from coming? Harry didn't doubt he had more.

He was half-hard and lost in fantasy when a knock came at the door. Damn!

He leapt up, spelling his hardness away hastily (a spell every man loathed for its pain, and only used when they had to). He was relieved that his Firebolt was locked away in his bedroom closet, so no one could see it, if this were one of his Muggle neighbors. Or maybe it was Blaise? His heart pounded at the thought.

Harry waded through the mess of clothes, case files, magazines, and a couple books. He put way too many work supplies in his room, so he'd started storing clothes (he'd gotten nice clothes out of shopping with Ginny, which was one good thing about her) in the laundry room behind the TV center. They'd flooded out into his living room eventually. He swore as his toe hit the coffee table, and he held his wand tight to his side. Whenever a Muggle neighbor came by, once he saw them through the peep hole, he hid it in a vase that sat on the windowsill by the door.

He peeped out. It was his Muggle neighbors Cecelia and Dan, and they stood with eager smiles and a pizza. Well, he'd already eaten. Harry put his wand away, and then remembered the magical newspaper lying in plain sight on his kitchen table. He sped into the kitchen, shoved the paper in the trash underneath a melon rind, and returned to open the door with a yank.

"Hey," he said. "I already ate. Sorry."

Their faces fell, and then Dan piped up, "Well, do you want to watch a game of football? Or we could always go see a movie. We figured you might be lonely, so we wanted to at least share dinner. How are you doing?"

Football, ugh. Harry would much rather watch a game of Quidditch any day!

"Well, um," Harry scratched the back of his head, "Good. I went to a fun club yesterday. Uh, met someone. An old friend from school. I actually have a date tonight. I'm just sortof…waiting."

Cecelia's blonde curls bobbed as she bounced in excitement, and her blue eyes sparkling reminded Harry a little of Dumbledore. "Ooh! A DATE! Who is this old friend?"

Harry bit his lip. "Um. Well, not really a friend, honestly. An acquaintance…that got my attention, heh. He's, uh, he used to be friends with the resident school bully, actually."

"He?" A glance dashed between the two. Seriously? They were going to flip their shit over him being bi? Harry squirmed on his doorstep. His neighbors recovered quickly.

"What, so now he's reformed and decided to be nice? Good, it sounds like you found someone mature. When is he coming over? You're going out late, aren't you."

Cecelia sounded like one of the reporters at the moment, like she wanted all the juicy details. Harry stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "Yeah, he's going to a friend's wedding, so I imagine they'll be out late celebrating or something, and then I'm going over to his place later."

"Well, you're welcome to use up the rest of your waiting time at our place," Dan said, smiling.

"That would be much better than looking at frustrating case files. But can we go out? I'm going mad inside, at this point."

"What would you like to do? Something that doesn't involve eating, since you want to save your appetite for your date."

Was there innuendo in those words? Harry wasn't sure. An hour later he found that he was horrible at playing pool, and that a couple people were giving him shifting looks that made him nervous. He decided to call it a night, even though it was only ten, and when his neighbors offered him a ride, Harry said, "Thanks, but I'll just take a taxi." Besides, they were having too much fun playing.

He walked further than necessary beyond the block of shops around the pool hall, because he wanted to make sure no one was following him. Maybe he was just paranoid. Maybe the shifty-eyed people were reporters, or just plain wizards and witches, not ex Death Eaters or criminals who recognized Auror Potter. Maybe they were even Muggles, and thought it funny that the young man with the mad hair and glasses was awful at pool. Still, he was relieved when he rounded the corner by a liquor store with a flashing neon light, and was able to Apparate home with no mishap.

As he sat on his bed, he realized how damn lonely he was. He didn't know what to do with himself. Friends had always given him things to do, places to go, people to see. Ginny had occupied him, because hell, dating took effort.

He'd had a nice first month of living alone here though, really. He'd purposely hung out with his Muggle neighbors in order to get away from his taxing friends who wanted to understand or control him, and because they were fun. It was amazing to be with Muggles who weren't like the Dursleys.

He'd liked the feel of being independent and being able to do whatever the hell he wanted without having to worry about conflicting schedules, telling someone where he was going, or making sure he spent enough time with so-and-so. And without being attached via dating to Ginny, he could visit the Burrow when he wanted, not all the time. He loved the Burrow, but in the last couple weeks of his and Ginny's being together, it had become hell.

George was constantly popping up and making dirty jokes. Ron was always smiling at Harry, pleased to see him with Ginny, and Hermione was always casting worried looks between Harry and Ginny, because she'd known how often they were exploding at each other at their shared flat in the country. The worst of all though, was not Molly Weasley, as Harry had thought it would be. She was just as kind as always. The worst was Arthur Weasley, always chirping at Harry about taking care of Ginny, not knowing how exasperated Harry was with his _little girl_, and always being gone at work when she went crying to Hermione.

Harry regretted all the times he'd made her cry. He hadn't yelled at her that much, but they had grated on each other so much that time spent together had become unbearable. She wanted the happy, smooth family life that Harry had always thought he'd wanted, but with his dangerous Auror job, and Ginny trying to force him happy even when he wasn't, he felt completely opposite of who she wanted him to be, and who she thought he would be.

Life wasn't all swell, and Harry didn't know how to make it like that, for himself or Ginny. After everything he had experienced, it infuriated him that Ginny expected everything to fall nicely into place for him. He was Harry Potter, the fates were against him. Plus, life just didn't work like that. You had to work at it. Perhaps that had been the real problem. Harry hadn't wanted to work to make life with Ginny pleasant, after a while. It took too much effort.

Seeing Blaise had made Harry realize that a lot of what he'd being doing in the past month was compensation for loneliness. And the fact that he'd grown up with the Dursleys, battled Voldemort for years, and spent his first year an Auror working his arse off probably didn't help. He was realizing that he didn't really know what to do alone, and maybe it was bad for him? Merlin.

What had he done in his month alone? He'd gone drinking with Ron. That had passed time and It had been good to reminisce, vent, and just spend time with his old friend. He'd danced in clubs, which was always fun, really, but mostly, he realized, he enjoyed the interactions with the crowds. He'd also gotten in the habit of milling around at the Leaky Cauldron and other places, just to talk to people, when he wasn't working. And as for work, he'd thrown himself into it more in the last three months – two with Ginny, one without – than he had since he first got the Auror title. (His first year at work, he'd been famous for always working and never taking a break.)

It was messed up, and, Harry realized, it wouldn't last him very long, this happiness. It was short-lived, lonely, and he didn't like feeling like he was on bad terms with his friends. He wasn't. Some were even supportive of Harry's breakup with Ginny, like Seamus, Luna, and Neville. But Ron and Hermione continued to insist that he and Ginny were meant to be together.

Harry sighed, and turned to eye his Firebolt in his closet. It had been far too long. Where could he go to fly? There were a number of places. He could fly to Blaise's flat, but it was too far, really. And he wasn't sure how he was going to know when Blaise was home. Blaise couldn't very well Apparate to Harry's flat, not knowing anything of its whereabouts. It was up to Harry to meet them up, he guessed. Blaise had said after eleven.

It was suddenly eleven thirty, and Harry realized he'd better show up soon. He threw on a pair of nicer pants, wrestled himself into a tight black turtleneck, and attempted to calm his hair, which never, ever worked. His mirror commented on his utter failure, and Harry kicked the leg. He only ended up hurting himself, and the mirror chastised him.

By the time Harry was checking on his wards, it was eleven thirty five. When he was done with that, it was nearly midnight. If Blaise wasn't done celebrating Malfoy's wedding, then so be it. Harry would be waiting for him when he arrived, naked, draped across something interesting.

With a sigh, Harry ambled into his living room. Already he was tense from just a day alone with himself. Ugh. He felt so pathetic! Ugh. He considered not even going to Blaise's, but then he told himself, "You have to go, or you'll only feel worse. Just do it."

He shut his eyes, and Apparated with a resounding crack.

He ended up in the hall outside Blaise's flat. If Blaise wasn't here, he'd have to wait. He was relieved that no one had seen him pop up out of thin air, and leaned against the wall between numbers thirteen and fourteen. Blaise was number thirteen and a half, technically. Harry thought of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. If he moved there, he'd be closer to Blaise. He'd looked up the location earlier. But then he'd have all those memories to deal with, too.

An arm reached out of nowhere, and Harry found himself sucked through the wall. He was reminded strongly of platform nine and three quarters from his Hogwarts days.

"There you are," Blaise breathed. His breath was of alcohol, but he was steady on his feet. He immediately pulled Harry into the closest room, which was the random one with assorted things in it. Pushing Harry into the soft, plushy chair by the desk, he kissed him.

His kiss was delicious. He slipped his tongue into Harry softly, and moved it slow, dipping it in and out, in and out, until Harry chased after it. He moaned when Blaise's tongue stroked his, and felt himself hardening already.

They pulled apart. Harry asked, "Did you wait long? How was the wedding?"

Blaise shook his head. "I didn't wait long. The _wedding_ was way too damn long. But it was good. I enjoyed the dancing, and the games. The worst part was when Pansy showed up screaming. I had to take her away and calm her down, and Draco was furious with me for not having taking better care of her last night. Somehow he'd heard about it, probably from Nott. That nag is always telling Draco everything. I explained."

"E-explained?" Harry squeaked.

Blaise laughed. "Don't worry! I didn't tell him it was you I was busy with. I know you value your privacy, and I value mine. Speaking of busy, what have you been up to?"

All the depression and frustration that had been swimming in Harry dove up to choke him. "Nothing," he grumbled, "nothing."

One eyebrow quirked up. Blaise was still wearing a pair of silvery dress robes. "That 'nothing' sure has a lot of something in it. Come, have a drink."

He took Harry's hand and brought him into the dining room, where he poured Harry a generous amount of fire whiskey. Harry took a gulp, sighing at the burning that sizzled down his throat and belly. "Mm. Thanks."

Blaise leaned forward, and took a sip straight from the bottle. Harry watched his adam's apple bob, and wanted suddenly to lick Blaise – his throat, his chest, his buttocks even, and that glorious, thick cock that had entered Harry and pounded him so mercilessly…his breath quickened.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Blaise asked, opening his eyes briefly before taking another swig.

"No," Harry said, gasping as he finished his drink far too fast. He stumbled when he got up, and leaned swaying against the wall. "I want…you. I want you to…fuck me…against…something. In that room." He pointed at the room across the hall way.

Blaise laughed loudly, and then his glittering gaze locked with Harry, and he licked his lips. "I always liked your honesty," he purred. "Why that room? It's dangerous. I've got loads of mysterious shit in there."

Harry shrugged. "I like it."

"Alright."

Blaise pulled Harry tight against him, and they wandered back into the room. Immediately Blaise had his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of Harry's trousers, and he pushed Harry down into the plush desk chair again.

His heavier body sunk down over Harry, and he purposefully ground down, feeling Harry's hardness there. Harry moaned, almost breathless at the sudden pleasure that rolled into him. God it felt good. This was just what he needed to feel better.

Blaise sprinkled kisses up and down Harry's throat, even as his hands worked themselves under Harry's shirt. "You dressed up for me," he murmured hot in Harry's ear, "I like that."

Harry flushed. "I tried."

Blaise yanked the shirt off of Harry, and tossed it over a pile of papers. "Success," he declared. He kissed Harry, again and again, and then he licked over Harry nipples and bit with his teeth. Harry bucked his hips up against Blaise's body, reveling in the sensation of Blaise's hard cock against him.

"I want this," he whispered, sliding his hand down over the tent in Blaise's trousers.

Blaise groaned. "Even hungrier tonight. God, I hope we can do it more than once. I've got multiple slick surfaces to slide you over. Where do you want it?"

He smiled down at Harry, and lust was flaring in his eyes and trembling in his limbs. Harry licked his lips. "You know where."

Blaise laughed. "Yes," he kissed Harry's ears, "yes," he pried his fingers against the zipper of Harry's trousers, "and yes," he finished. In one move, he had Harry trouser-less, and he rubbed over the wetted, thin material of Harry's underwear with a throaty moan.

Then his tongue was there, teasing the head of Harry's erection with one lick. He pried Harry's thighs wider apart with one firm gesture, and then he stood back to look, as if studying a piece of art.

"I'm not a museum display, or one of those paintings in your hall," Harry growled. "Come on."

Blaise smirked. "I can't help it. I like to torture people." His eyes seemed to say a lot there, and Harry wondered if Blaise tortured people outside of bedroom situations, too.

"If you don't come over here, I'm going to tackle you," Harry threatened.

Blaise smiled widely. "Oh? I'm sure you get a lot of practice in your job as an Auror."

"Rarely, actually. I stun them first. Only sometimes do I get to tackle them."

"Hmm. But you're quite fit, so you must get a lot of exercise on the job. Plenty more than I get standing announcing and sitting on my arse for radio."

Blaise knelt down on his knees suddenly, and crawled forward. Harry waited with baited breath. He moaned as Blaise's head moved between his thighs, and then that hot tongue was torturing him, pressing over the tent in his underwear over and over.

"Please," Harry gasped, "You got me drunk, and now I'm going to blow it right now if you don't hurry up."

"Yes, that fire whiskey is strong, isn't it?" Blaise was smirking at him. He pulled the last piece of Harry's clothing down with two fingers, and his eyes brightened. "Well, hello."

Harry laughed at Blaise's greeting of his cock, and then his breath seemed to disappear as Blaise's eager tongue licked over it. "AH!" Harry shouted. "Merlin! Fuck! You must…do this…all the time."

Blaise murmured against his skin, "I haven't kept count. I'm glad that the rumor about your…assets…turns out to be true…the tabloids surmised it to be sizeable…perhaps it's requisite of heroes…"

Laughing, he blew a breath over Harry's sensitive skin. Harry shook.

Then his tongue was – ohh, Merlin! It was in Harry's hole, fucking him again, and then it was all over his balls and his cock and sucking his erection in, and Harry thrust into that amazing heat before bursting his load straight down Blaise's throat. The Slytherin worked him thoroughly. When he was done feasting, he pushed himself onto Harry's lap in one move, and murmured, "Now you have to do something for me."

Harry lay there, just concentrating on the orgasm trickling away. He opened his eyes blearily. "What is it?"

"Well, it's a little…experiment. It's something I've done a few times, and I want the chance to do it with you. You're very passionate, uninhibited, and I think it's really hot. I want to use it to our advantage. You've been in strip clubs, right?"

Harry nodded. "Of course."

Blaise smiled. "Good. Well have you ever gone to the back? To the BDSM area?"

Harry shook his head, swallowing hard. "No. Um, look, I'm not really into getting uh, chained up or something…"

"No, not you, me." Blaise stretched wonderfully, and Harry admired the shape of his body while he felt Blaise's hardness against him at the same time. "I want you to use your strength on me."

Harry's mouth opened. "What, you want me to like…tie you up, or something? I really, I don't like hurting people."

Blaise nodded. "I know. But this is different. You'll just use your hands, and hit me until I come. Hit my arse."

Harry's mouth worked to get saliva, and he felt desire burn through him unbidden. He liked Blaise's arse, and he wouldn't mind seeing more of it. But he disliked the idea of hurting anyone. What if he hit too hard? Then again, it was just his hand, it's not like he would be using an instrument. He pictured himself smacking Blaise's arse, and found the image engrossing. Heat rose in his belly.

"I…"

"I can tell you like it. But you can say no, if you want. I want you to feel completely free with me. You can always say no to anything."

Harry smiled, because he knew that Blaise had remembered what he'd said about being stuck with Ginny, and how now he was free. Arousal was creeping into him, but he still wasn't sure. "Um…"

"I'll get ready just in case. Think about it."

Blaise got up off of him, and leaned over against the opposite wall. He reached back and grabbed a handful of the silvery cloth of his robes, and slid them up off his body in a moment. He wore nothing underneath. Harry panted as he watched that robe rise, and stared at Blaise's full, juicy arse when it was revealed. He lolled his tongue around his mouth, thinking. Blaise really liked this sort of thing?

"Don't you feel…nervous…that the person will hurt you?" He couldn't help but wonder.

Blaise locked his hands against the rim of an empty shelf, and with a whisk of his wand, the bottles of potions flew over to pile neatly on his desk, out of the way. He then used a sticking charm to make sure the shelf wouldn't budge.

"Sometimes," he replied, "but that's half the fun, honestly. I like the suspense. Besides, I trust you."

Harry squirmed. He hadn't realized Blaise was so kinky. Liking pain? He couldn't really understand it. But he wanted to please Blaise, and he wanted to touch Blaise's arse, it was true.

Slowly, he eased off the chair, and walked over to Blaise's side of the room. Blaise was leaning over, head bent between his shoulders, and his arse was stuck out just begging to be fondled in some fashion. Harry reached out and groped Blaise's arse, and both moaned at once.

Then he stepped forward, closer, and began to knead that sweet arse with one hand, then the other, then both at the same time. Blaise groaned softly at his touch, whispering, "Yes…"

Harry kneaded harder, firmer, testing, and still Blaise moaned. Harry was hard now, and when he pushed forward and slid his hard cock over the soft skin of those cheeks, it actually got him a whimper. He wondered if Blaise wanted his cock inside him. Maybe this had all been a hint towards that. But he'd never fucked an arse before, although he had to admit, if he wanted to fuck one, it was Blaise's. Harry pressed his cock so that it nestled in Blaise's crack, warmed by the two cheeks.

"Mmm, Harry," Blaise said throatily, "you know how to get me going."

Experimentally, breathing a little harder now, Harry pushed his cock up Blaise's crack and down a little. He knew if he angled differently, he could enter Blaise, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for that yet. Blaise moaned at his little wriggle, and wriggled back. Mmm. Harry liked seeing that.

He pulled back, and pushed his hand against Blaise's arse again. Then, with his hand still there, he said, "Erm…tell me if it's…too hard, or something."

A rustle of dark curls told him yes.

Harry decided not to think about it. Plus, he wanted to know what Blaise's reaction would be. So he moved his hand back, and in one quick strike, slapped Blaise's arse, hard.

"YES!" Blaise ground out, "Just like that. More. More."

Harry was surprised that Blaise liked it that much. He couldn't help the curls of desire that wrenched inside him. He raised his hand again and smacked equally hard. When he did it a third time, he started to develop a rhythm. He watched the flush burn up and down Blaise's cheeks, and alternated on which cheek he struck. The Slytherin was pushing back against him, groaning, cursing, and whispering Harry's name.

Harder, faster, he smacked Blaise's arse again and again, one, two, three – every strike earned him a moan, and Harry realized that his hand hurt, but he didn't want to stop. His cock was so hard now, hearing Blaise's sounds, and he wanted a taste now of that flushed skin –

His knees crackled as he knelt on the floor, and he arced his tongue softly over the sensitive, burning reddened flesh where he'd hit Blaise. A whimper came from Blaise again, and his breathing was loud and fast in the air. When Harry's tongue dipped over Blaise's crack, passing it by, a short, "Harry," fell from Blaise's lips.

Harry licked and licked, and then suckled with his mouth, groaning at he rode the waves of pleasure that this sent through him. He bit down, hard, and the sound that Blaise's beautiful voice made almost forced him to come right then and there.

Then, obedient, curious, he moved his tongue back over to Blaise's crack, and shoved it deep in, down, down, down…Blaise was trembling against him, his skin so warm, and when Harry finally found the hole and pushed his tongue into it, swirling, a sobbing moan, low and delicious, came from Blaise. At the same time the Slytherin was practically pushing Harry to the floor, back, because he wanted it so much, wanted more.

Harry obeyed, shyly prying the cheeks apart with two thumbs, and buried his face deep in Blaise's arse. His cock was throbbing against his belly, hurting, and Blaise's pants and moans and pushing was so good. Harry thrust in harder, whimpering himself, and at the same time now he slid his hand up to grab Blaise's cock.

The erection in his hand was huge, leaking, begging for attention, and Harry felt his own twitch in response as he held that beautiful thing in his hand. He rubbed a thumb over it appreciatively, still licking in Blaise's hole. His hand remained there as Blaise released, his come spurting out in shoots, wetting his belly and dripping down onto Harry's hand where it sat hot. It was amazing to feel that all happening in his hand.

Harry moaned, and whispered, "Hold on – "

He stood up, shaky, groaning at the weight of his erection. Harry leaned over Blaise's shaking body, and after slicking his cock with Blaise's come from his hand, he used his hand as a guide, easing his cock past his fingertips and into Blaise's slick hole. It was hard not to come as soon as that amazing hot flesh was hugging his cock, but he resisted. When he was all the way in, compulsively his hips jerked up, once, twice, and then he shot his load hard and deep into Blaise's body.

The other man moaned at the sensation, gasping Harry's name. When Harry was done, he leaned back against Harry's body, pulling him closer with one arm. His mouth kissed the underside of Harry's jaw, and he said warmly, dazedly, "You, are…mm. so good, god, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry flushed. "You, too. I think I liked the er, spanking, after all."

Blaise turned around, and his hands caressed Harry's shoulders and swept down his arms. "Mmm. It certainly seemed so to me. And your tongue…you've _got_ to use that more on me. I'll let you eat things off me if you want to, just to get it."

Harry laughed, blushing at the further kinky ideas that seemed to float easily into Blaise's mind. Harry would've never thought of something like that, honestly. His experiences of sex with Ginny and the other woman he'd had a one night thing with were very straightforward and predictable. Blaise was much more exciting.

Blaise was smiling at him and looking at him deeply. His gaze roved all over Harry's body. It made goose bumps prickle up Harry's arms. He walked around Harry and sat down, naked with come on his front and his back, in the desk chair. His arms reached out, and he said, "Please, use that tongue on me, Harry."

So Harry did. He licked over Blaise's ears, suckling hard. He teethed a trail down Blaise's neck, and licked feathery soft. His hands stroked over Blaise's arms while his teeth nipped at Blaise's nipples, twisting, and then he licked down, down Blaise's torso. When he got near Blaise's cock, the Slytherin moaned, and said, "Play with me, torture me, please. Ignore the most important bits for a moment."

It was hard to ignore Blaise's cock, but Harry did so, slicking a trail down from Blaise's navel to his hip to his thighs. There he bit, and sucked, taking in the sweat and heat of Blaise's flesh, the moans, the flavor of soft skin. He enjoyed the hard muscles there, and he was surprised at how areas beyond Blaise's cock and arse were interesting. He discovered that Blaise had sensitive inner thighs, and a scar above one knee. He stroked over Blaise's feet with his hands, and then, unable to stop himself, he reached back and kneaded Blaise's arse again.

Blaise touched him, too. His hands traced over Harry with light touches, pressing, massaging. His tongue gave little hinting licks – at Harry's side, to his cock, to his neck. Then he turned Harry around and grunted as Harry fell ungracefully into his lap. His hand stroked up Harry's ear into his hair, and he pushed his nose against Harry's head again as he had the night before, taking in Harry's scent, or just being close, Harry wasn't sure which.

It felt good to lie over another body, and to have Blaise whisper his name and touch him gently. It wasn't sexual, his touches to Harry's mouth, brow, and neck. Yet somehow the tickle of those fingertips over Harry's skin made Harry pant in need. He wondered how in hell Blaise was able to do that.

When he leaned his head back to rest on Blaise's shoulder, the other man sprinkled kisses across his ear and down his neck. His fingers traced Harry's collarbones, slid down to rub around Harry's navel. At the same time his free hand was firmly resting on Harry's hip. It was like he was saying he owned Harry, and it was intimate. Harry realized he liked it. He liked this closeness.

"Your wish is my command," Blaise whispered in his ear, "We seem to be trading favors, here. What would you like?"

Harry smiled, and pressed a kiss to Blaise's cheek. "Hmm. Let me think."

Then he laughed loudly, and turned around in Blaise's lap. "What do you think I want? I want what I came here for." He wrapped his fingers around Blaise's cock. "And you're here for the same reason. Unless you want me to do it, this time."

He wasn't sure if he wanted Blaise to say yes, fuck me, but he thought he'd rather have Blaise take him again. He wanted all those wondrous sensations that he'd never felt before again, and all of Blaise's expertise and teasing and passion.

A glint came into Blaise's eyes. "I have an idea of how to make it a little different," he said. "Do you mind some exercise this time? You're fit, you can handle it."

Harry nodded. "I can handle it. What is it?"

Blaise _accio_ed the lube, and again he put it in Harry's hands, saying, "Slick me up."

Harry smiled. He popped open the tube quickly, and squirted some in his hands. Then, eagerly, he took hold of Blaise's cock and began to slick it up, just like Blaise had said. At the touch of his fingers, Blaise's cock began to harden. When Harry kissed Blaise, hard and long, it was amazing to feel Blaise's cock stir in his grip and burgeon.

"Wow," he breathed. Blaise laughed at his virginal reaction, and Harry flushed. He worked his thumb over the head of Blaise's cock, teasing, and scraped his fingernails down the length. Blaise panted. He took the balls in his hand and played with them, groping, stroking, and then went back up to the length. When he pressed kisses to Blaise's body at the same time, Blaise moaned.

Harry encouraged Blaise with a single lick; and now Blaise's cock was fully erect and ready. Harry swallowed at the sight of it. He looked up at Blaise and asked, "Now what?"

A devilish grin was on Blaise's mouth. He grabbed Harry's hands and pulled them away from his cock. "Now," he breathed, "You're going to hold it, and you're going to ease your beautiful bum onto it, and I'm going to fuck you into tomorrow, over and over, across every horizontal or comfortable surface of my flat. We'll do a course on vertical one-oh-one another time."

Harry grinned back. "Okay. Didn't I already get an intro to vertical one-oh-one yesterday?"

"Yes." Blaise grabbed his hips now, and Harry eased himself up onto his knees. He was grateful for Blaise's help, but he didn't feel he needed it just now. He gently smoothed Blaise's hands up to his sides, instead.

Then he was holding Blaise's cock, and leaning down, and he positioned that beautiful thing beneath him. He eased down till the head was at his entrance, and slowly, slowly sat down.

"Oh…fucking Merlin Christ Jesus," Harry blasphemed, "_Blaise_!"

"That's…more like it," Blaise gasped, "Use me as a swear. Say it all you want."

Blaise's hot, swollen cock was sliding up, up, deeper into Harry. When it reached the deepest it could go, Harry grunted as it touched against that uber sensitive spot.

He let it sit there a moment, basking in its heat and fullness, breathing in and out. Then, instinctively, he moved. He shifted his hips up a little, and brought them back down. "Oooh." On the next try, he shifted up higher, and brought himself down harder. "OH!"

_That_ felt good! He eased himself higher this time, higher, breathing deeply in, and – down! Pleasure sprang through him; he felt electrocuted with it.

"You're good at this," Blaise remarked breathily. He sounded pleased.

Harry pushed up, and then down again, harder, deeper, and this time it was like he saw stars behind his eyelids. "Blaise, Blaise," he groaned, and didn't know what else to say. He had no thought left. He was only the tilt of his hips up, and the push down. Blaise's cock was smooth inside him, and it burned on the way in sometimes, but it was a good burn.

He crunched his body up and then down, harder, faster. Blaise's hands clenched his wrists painfully hard. Harry watched blood trickle down Blaise's lip as the Slytherin bit himself. "Harry," he gasped, "You're a natural. It must be all that Quidditch broom riding…" he smirked at his own dirty little joke, and Harry laughed.

"Yes," he agreed, pushing even harder now, "I should be excellent at riding anything, after brooms, and hippogriffs, and dragons…"

Blaise pushed back at him, suddenly, swiftly, and at that move the pleasure positively roared through Harry. He shouted. "Do that…again," he gasped, "Please!"

"Dragons," Blaise growled, pushing up harder, faster, to match Harry's quickened pace, "That was the year you weren't at school, right? The dragon was from Gringotts."

"Yes," Harry breathed, and then as he and Blaise rocked against each other, fast and urgent, it became a chant: "Yes…oh yes…mmm….yes! Yes!"

The Slytherin was grunting below him, and his hands were clenched hard over Harry's arse, over his hips, driving himself in deeper. Harry felt Blaise's cock hit his prostate more than once. He held onto Blaise's shoulders hard, possibly digging deep scratches accidentally with his fingernails.

"Faster, Harry," Blaise demanded.

In response, Harry bounced over Blaise's cock. He squeezed over it, and noticed that if he squeezed his arse really tight over Blaise's cock, while at the same time that cock drove deep inside him, they both got the most satisfaction. So he drove himself onto it quicker, bouncing, but clenching more. His muscles began to ache from the workout, but he appreciated the sweat. Blaise's fingers glided over his body, touching him here, there, everywhere.

His cock was aching and jiggling. Blaise's fingers were teasing it. Harry was bouncing fast, moaning as he went, and then Blaise snapped his hips up so fast that it made him shout with the pleasure. Again Blaise did that move, and again. They were holding onto each other now tightly, riding the pleasure waves, and then it got so high and wonderful that Harry was shouting himself hoarse as Blaise's cock pounded at that sweet spot. Oh it felt so blissful! Mmm! He wanted it more!

He paused when Blaise's cock was in him, and drove himself deeper, wriggling over Blaise's cock and clenching. He clenched over and over, and Blaise looked beautiful. He was lying back against the chair, mouth open, eyes fluttering open and shut, alternately blissed out and eyeing Harry. His hands were tangled in Harry's hair. Harry lifted himself up again and slammed home hard. He did this several times, clenching, twisting, and pounding that hard flesh as deep it could go within him.

With a grunt Blaise shot his load deep in Harry, and at almost the same time Harry sprayed his finish over their bellies. He collapsed on top of Blaise, panting like he'd just run a race. Sweat dried on his body with air from an open window, and he shivered at the night's sudden cold, and burrowed deeper into Blaise's warm embrace.

"Wonderful, Harry," Blaise said quietly into his hair. "Like I said, you're a natural."

Harry mumbled a nothing and burrowed himself even deeper in. "Mmm. I like your ideas, Blaise."

Blaise laughed low in his throat. "I like your execution."

_more soon! I know this seems like zero conflict now...but isn't it troubling how I've made Harry a workaholic loner? ahaha...somehow that just slid out from my fingers. More conflict soon, I promise._


	5. Chapter 5

**HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE**

**by The Ultimate Otaku**

_Chapter 5_

They lay like that for a time, and Harry couldn't stop from smiling. It felt so good to be with someone again. When he was with Ginny, there was always some tension in the background, even after having enjoyed each other. With Blaise, he was at ease.

Those long fingers stroked up and down his scalp, up and down, and Harry made an "mm" of appreciation. Then he sat up a little, sticky with sweat and come, and whispered, "Shower?"

Blaise nodded agreement. He followed Harry down the hall, through his room, and into the bathroom. There, he turned on the taps, and slipping into the steamy heat, beckoned that Harry follow.

It felt so good to have that warmth slide over Harry's skin, while at the same time he could watch Blaise, and Blaise watched back. When Blaise was sliding his hands through his hair, lathering it with shampoo, Harry couldn't resist the urge to help. He pushed his hands into that thick head of curls, laughing. Blaise closed his eyes and let Harry finish washing his hair, smiling, and when that was done, he took the scrubbie from Harry's hand and scrubbed him down personally.

His hands glided silky over Harry's skin, up his chest, down his shoulders, down to his arse. Harry moaned as Blaise's wonderful hands kneaded him. Then Blaise's hands were at his front, and he felt himself become breathless with need as they touched him everywhere, in every crevice, across every surface.

Then Blaise began to kiss his cock, slow, licking kisses, lingering. Harry moaned as that soft mouth touched the head, and then sunk slowly over his whole length. Blaise's tongue remained slow, soft and hot over Harry's skin. When Harry jerked his hips up, Blaise pulled away, grinning.

"What?" Harry said, a little tersely.

"I'm leaving you like that because I love torturing, remember? Especially you…" Blaise's fingertips grazed up Harry's side, and even that was somehow titillating. "Your reactions…"

Blaise leaned forward to breathe hotly into Harry's ear, "Your reactions are like a flush of warm Butter beer in my throat, with a shot of fire whiskey added. Sweet, warm, delicious…hot and burning…"

Harry whimpered. Blaise's voice alone was making his cock react, burgeoning, and it was sheer torture. He thought Blaise could make him come with his voice alone, if he wanted to.

"Are you," he licked his lips, "Are you going to finish it, or fuck me, or not?"

He turned around in the shower, and planted his hands on the wall. He hadn't been taken from behind yet, where he couldn't see Blaise's face, but he thought that he might present an appealing picture to encourage Blaise, posed this way.

It worked. The Slytherin slid in right behind Harry, and his cock was already firm and ready as it pressed up against Harry's arse. "Harry," Blaise whispered, "You keep surprising me."

And then his tongue was tasting Harry, fucking him, and then he was within Harry in one sweet, burning slide, and he started fast, and kept the pace up. His hands were on Harry's hips, grounding him, and his sounds were in Harry's ears, beautiful. The water flowed over them, beating a rhythm separate from their driving, urgent rhythm.

"Hngh…Blaise…_Blaise_…" and Harry was shouting, because he couldn't hold it back anymore. His face was pressed up so hard against the slick wall that it hurt. His hands had Blaise's mashed over them again, and Blaise's fingernails dug into his skin. The Slytherin grunted and groaned behind Harry, and his cock was so good within Harry, so hungry.

It lasted too short. Before Harry knew it, he was coming, and Blaise followed suit. They collapsed in a wet, tangled heap on the floor of the shower. With a flick of his wand, Blaise shut it off, wrapped Harry in a towel, and half-carried, half-dragged Harry, laughing, to his bed.

Harry collapsed over the white sheets, sighing in contentedness. He opened his eyes to see Blaise looking at him. Blaise's expression was soft, and Harry didn't think he'd quite seen Blaise look like that yet. It made his heart speed up, and he smiled.

"What are you looking at?"

Blaise blinked suddenly, as if returning from a far-off place, and murmured, "Just you, on my bed. I like it."

He clambered onto the bed, and over Harry's prone form. He kissed Harry's forehead, and then his nose. "Still no glasses?"

Harry shook his head. "I sortof forgot them, I guess. Usually I wear them at my flat. They're comfortable, and I'm so used to them. But I was…anxious."

"About me?"

Again Harry shook his head. "No. Least of all about you. About me. But let's not talk about it."

Blaise shrugged. "As you please." He kissed Harry, softly, tenderly. Harry loved it. He didn't think he was ready to tell Blaise yet how much he enjoyed Blaise's tender side; that he was seeing it, that Blaise was showing him, and how good it felt to have someone to enjoy tenderness with at all.

So he asked, "Why do you like me on your bed so much?" He really did want to know.

Blaise smiled, and lowered his gaze. He traced over Harry's bare torso with a finger.

"Well," he said, "You look good on it. Sexy. And…it's nice to have someone to warm the bed for me. And…you. You feel…different than the others. Most people, I would've let leave me last night, without making them promise to return. But you…I had to have you again. But it's more. I would usually be more about my satisfaction…or if it was about my partner's satisfaction, satisfying them would be a matter of pride for me. But with you…you bring more to the plate. You make me want to satisfy you, just because. It's…weird."

Harry lolled his tongue in his mouth. He didn't quite know what to say to that. A hopeful little part of him said that maybe, just maybe, Blaise wanted to be with Harry more, just as Harry, in turn, felt like he wanted more time with Blaise – whether sexual or not. And it wasn't just because he needed Blaise's company to fulfill his empty, lonely time. He genuinely liked Blaise.

And Blaise seemed to be saying the same thing. But Harry didn't want to really talk about it, because what if he wrecked things? So he just said, "Well, you're certainly expert at satisfying me. And as for the rest…well, I've never really experienced anything like this, either."

He looked up into Blaise's dark eyes, which looked back at him. Blaise just looked; he wasn't really trying to read Harry, although Harry had purposely left his meaning ambiguous. Then Blaise cracked a smile, and lay down on the bed and pulled Harry close.

Somehow that little gesture said a lot more than anything Blaise could have replied with.

They lay like that, together. Harry felt so comfortable in Blaise's arms. Blaise's body was damp against his, and he smelled like sweet lavender just a little. His hands were on Harry, one on his back, the other against the back of his head. Harry had pushed his chin in the crook of Blaise's shoulder, and had one leg between Blaise's.

This was definitely not just a one night stand or a fun fucking, he thought to himself. He wouldn't do this with someone he just wanted to enjoy. Neither would Blaise. He wondered if, as Harry felt his loneliness comforted by Blaise's company, perhaps Blaise needed him for something, too. He knew that Blaise wasn't enamored of his name or fame. He hoped that maybe, Blaise just liked him, and wanted him in his home.

Harry slept deeply.

When he woke, he was still wrapped pleasantly in Blaise's arms. He turned a little, and watched as Blaise woke up. The Slytherin yawned, stretching his long body out, and then looked at Harry. He gave Harry a sleepy smile.

"Hungry?"

Harry realized he was, because it had been ages since he'd eaten dinner, but he wasn't sure if he wanted that more or to go back to sleep. He also wanted to do more things with Blaise. He wasn't sure which choice he wanted more. It was all good, it was all Blaise.

A growl from Harry's stomach decided for him.

Blaise laughed, "That answers that." He sat up in bed, and Harry watched as Blaise flipped his hair back behind his head, ran a hand through it, and then stretched again. God he looked good. He turned and offered a hand to Harry, who took it, and they walked hand in hand to the kitchen.

"I'm a good cook, too," Blaise remarked. He leaned back against the stove, naked and totally comfortable. His gaze roved down Harry's body and back up, and then he asked, "What would you like?"

The question was so vague, and it made Harry smirk. He liked how he wasn't sure if Blaise was asking about sex or food. It was funny how comfortable Blaise was with walking around naked, and Harry supposed it came from experience. He himself did it sometimes, of course, now that he lived in his own flat, but he still wasn't as comfortable with it as Blaise seemed to be.

"Um, what do you cook best?"

"Anything. I can whip up a salad, too, or a dessert, if you like."

"Hmm." Harry's stomach growled again, urging him to hurry up. "I didn't have dessert today…"

"Name your favorite, then. Hogwarts feast days? I eat well, but I still remember those Hogwarts feasts as having some of my favorite foods. Yours?"

Harry smiled. "Treacle tart was always the one I went for."

Blaise smiled back. "'Treacle tart, sweetheart,'" he teased in a Cockney accent, reminding Harry of that old Cockney rhyme. "How many?"

"Oh, just one is fine."

Harry sat down at the dining table, feeling strange sitting naked in a chair. He watched as Blaise gathered ingredients together from his cupboard. He almost seemed to be making the dessert Muggle style, and this surprised Harry. It made him think of the days he'd cooked for the Dursleys, although he'd never gotten to eat a single delicious dessert he'd ever made for them…he frowned, and was caught frowning when Blaise looked over at him.

"What's wrong?"

"Um, nothing," Harry lied, tracing his tongue over his lips. Why did he always manage to think of something to sour a good thing? He supposed it came with the territory. Even though Voldemort was dead, his past always came up to haunt him, sometimes in odd moments like this.

"There's that 'nothing' that's loaded with shit," Blaise said, and sent his ingredients spinning together in a big glass bowl with a flick of his wand.

He came over to stand across the table from Harry then. Resting his arms across the top, he looked at Harry. "Tell me. What is it?"

Harry looked down at the table. "It's just…stupid memories that creep up. It's nothing important. They're gone now anyway…my, my mum's sister's family. I lived with them as a kid. It…wasn't the best."

Blaise pursed his lips, still looking at Harry. "Muggles, were they?"

"Are. Yeah. It was…not fun. But, I don't like to dwell on it. What about you? Did you live in a manor like the Malfoys?"

Blaise gave a short laugh. "That hunk of mansion? No, I never lived in anything like that. Well, not at first. My father was a poor slob who couldn't provide. He was the last of them, because my mother changed things after that. His shortcomings were what killed him, really."

Harry blinked. He'd heard of much worse, and seen worse, in his work as an Auror, but hearing it from someone he cared about and knew a little personally was alarming. But he kept his voice calm and said simply, "Your mother killed him?"

Long lashes dipped down briefly, and then Blaise looked straight at Harry. "Yes. She did. I trust you won't arrest her for it. She's slipped out of Auror hands multiple times already. She's craftier than a lot of people can fathom."

Harry forced himself to crack a tiny smile. "Slytherin?"

Blaise laughed. "Yes. She was, and I was, as you know. Thank you for not making a big deal out of it. I know it must disturb you, and not only because of your line of work, but because of who you are. Here, your tart is ready."

Harry's tart whirled to stop on the table in front of him, as well as a fork. Blaise watched as Harry took the first bite.

"Good?"

Harry chewed, swallowed, and then said through a second mouthful, "Yesh."

A sweet smile with teeth shone on Blaise's face. He sat down, and rested his chin on his hands, watching Harry eat.

Harry let him, because he liked the smile, and he knew that when he'd gotten appreciation over his cooking (post-Hogwarts, from friends and Ginny) he had enjoyed it. So he allowed it. Normally he wouldn't like the staring though.

"When you say, 'because of who I am,' what do you mean, Blaise? Because Voldemort killed my parents, I'm bugged by one person killing another?"

Blaise placed a hand on the table, and tilted his head to one side. "It's not just that. It's your principles, your sense of morality. You might have had a bad upbringing with Muggles, but you knew that killing someone is bad, and you just don't do it. I didn't learn that as a child. Well, I learned it from other children…I learned it when people, and not just children, were afraid of my mother. And yet she still managed to capture more and more men…"

He leaned back in his chair now, head rested in his cupped hands, and seemed to stare off in thought. Then he leaned back in as Harry was halfway through his tart, and said, "Let me do something really quick."

He flicked his wand towards the treacle tart, and something came out of it and hung at the tip of his wand. He waved it towards the glass bowl in the kitchen, and more treacle tart began to form there.

"You seem extra hungry."

Harry nodded. "Thanks."

He wanted to say something in response to what Blaise had said, as it had been quite personal and something Blaise had not had to tell Harry. It gave Harry a new side of Blaise to ponder over, and he liked that Blaise obviously had a sense of morality – even if it had taken time to develop. He knew things weren't just black and white, they never had been, and it was interesting and also creepy, to hear about Blaise's childhood with a single mother who took on husband after husband and killed them all.

"Your mother…is she still living? When did you start living in a manor like the Malfoys?"

"Yes, she's still alive, kicking, killing, spending, all of it." Blaise gave a rueful smile. "She keeps it all to herself in vault after vault at Gringotts and other banks. She filches from the Zabini vault when she feels it's necessary, though nothing that woman does is really necessary. As for the Zabini Manor, well…there are many. She moves around a lot, too. She has the attention span of a fly. The manor that I call my own, which I spent the most time in as a child up till our Third Year at Hogwarts, was the first. She bought it when I was about six."

Harry finished his last bite of treacle, and scooted the empty plate away with one hand. "So you had a few years of…at least environmental stability, before she started moving you both around?"

Blaise nodded. Then he turned to the glass bowl, Summoned it across the room, and plonked it down on the table.

"Can you stand up a second?"

Harry obediently stood up. His fork and plate were whisked away and set to washing themselves in the kitchen sink. Blaise elongated the table with a spell, placed the bowl in Harry's empty hands, and lay down on top of the table, face towards the ceiling.

"Smear me," he said.

Harry goggled, from Blaise to the bowl of crust-less treacle tart filling, and then laughed. "Are you serious? I thought that food idea was just a joke."

Blaise smirked. "It was. But then I saw how hungry you are. It made me want to actually do this. I've done it before, it's good. Just try it."

Harry laughed. "But it's silly. It's like…playing with our food, except we're adults."

Blaise nodded. "Exactly. And as adults, we can bring playing with food to the next level…and make it hot. Come on, I've seen you have way too much fun with that lube on my cock. Here's your chance to do even more."

He grinned at Harry, raising his eyebrows suggestively, making Harry laugh again.

Sighing because it was so ridiculous, Harry dipped a hand into the thick treacle mix. He scooted closer to the table and smeared a glob of it in a swipe across Blaise's chest.

"There. See? Silly."

Blaise shut his eyes. "Keep going."

Harry rolled his eyes and dipped a hand in again. This time he smeared the mixture slowly down Blaise's torso, in one glob after another, until Blaise was covered from collarbone to navel. It seemed like the treacle was set to not run out, in a spell of sorts. When Harry's hand paused at Blaise's navel, the dark-haired Slytherin requested, "Lower."

Harry swallowed. He put more on his hand, and coated Blaise's hips, his thighs, and then finally went up to his cock. He rubbed over it appreciatively, watching it harden, and smoothing the treacle into Blaise's skin.

"Not so deeply," Blaise said, "I want you to be able to taste it when you put your mouth there."

Harry licked his lips, feeling the first inklings of arousal at this strange activity swirl up inside him. He coated Blaise's cock again, leaving more treacle on the surface, and leaving Blaise harder. He skipped Blaise's legs, and moved up to Blaise's neck.

When his fingernails scratched lightly over the soft skin below Blaise's jaw, just by his ear, the Slytherin breathed an, "mmm." So Harry did it again, scratching Blaise like a sort of cat, and his lover sighed in appreciation.

"You're good with your hands, too. The honing Seeker. I'm smelling sweet enough to attract a hive of bees. Keep going. Can you feed me some? I like treacle, too."

Harry got a blob on his finger, and slid it into Blaise's open mouth. Blaise sucked it, licked over Harry's finger with his tongue, and scraped treacle off it with his teeth. His eyes were shut, and just the sight of him sucking like that made Harry think of Blaise sucking his cock. He felt himself harden more.

Blaise licked the last of the sweet thoroughly off of Harry's fingers, and when he opened his eyes and saw Harry's aroused state, he murmured, "Are you sure you don't want to be the one covered in food? I wouldn't mind licking and biting and sucking you all over."

Again Harry was affected by Blaise's voice alone. He moaned at the idea, and brought another glob for Blaise to suck from his finger. He didn't answer Blaise's question, because he wasn't sure.

Smiling, his eyes glinting with lust, Blaise suddenly pulled Harry forward into a kiss. Harry could taste the delicious treacle tart in Blaise's mouth, and found himself kissing more eagerly, his tongue diving to taste every bit of treacle.

When Blaise pulled away from the kiss, Harry kept going. He dragged his tongue across Blaise's cheek, down to his neck, which smelled so sweet. Harry breathed in that lovely treacle scent deeply. He lapped at the smooth, thick creamy sweet, sucking it bit by bit from Blaise's skin. Blaise was moaning in response. His hands dug through Harry's hair, massaging his scalp.

Harry moved lower, lower. He wasn't even focused on his hunger anymore, he found. Instead he was just reveling in sucking Blaise all over, in feeling that soft skin revealed to him bite by bite, lick by lick. He swiped up the stuff, down to Blaise's chest. Then he clambered up onto the table, too, and straddled Blaise. The closer he was getting to Blaise's cock, he found, the more excited he was. He breathed quickly in anticipation, and his cock was eager.

When he used his teeth, scraping delicate trails, and suckled to get thicker bits of treacle from Blaise's body, Blaise made appreciative noises. His hands stroked down Harry's shoulders in a rhythmic motion, until Harry went lower.

He reached Blaise's navel, and licked all around it, before plunging his tongue in the little dip there. Blaise groaned loudly. "Harry. Please fuck my arse with your tongue again. I can't have that only once. Your tongue is so good."

Tight and hard now, Harry pushed his tongue around more there, and then, with beads of saliva left behind on Blaise's glistening, wet skin, he reached Blaise's hard cock. He licked the head first, swirling his tongue over and over it, moaning at the flavor it had now.

"Mmm, Blaise," he moaned, licking harder, "I'll…never think of…treacle tart the same way again…now…"

Blaise laughed, and then moaned as Harry bit with his teeth. "Good."

Harry lapped hard then, moaning as Blaise's cock got harder. When he used his teeth, Blaise became erect. He suckled harder now, and moved slowly more down over Blaise's cock. It was so big, and he licked it over and over, trying to get every drop of treacle gone.

"Mmm!" Blaise thrust up into Harry's mouth. "Harry!"

Harry suckled harder, faster, bobbing his head, and then abruptly he pulled off and away. Blaise stared at him.

"Torture," Harry answered Blaise's unspoken question, grinning. "Revenge."

"Shit," Blaise shut his eyes. "I knew you'd get me back for that. You never were a door mat. Quite the opposite, really."

"Unless we want the same thing. Which I think we do…"

And without another word, Harry ducked his head, and he was about to tongue Blaise's hole again, when Blaise said, "Wait."

He tipped his wand into the treacle bowl, and pointed it, amusingly, at his own arse. "Treacle."

Harry laughed, but waited, and when it was done, he found himself thrusting his tongue into Blaise's hole with the flavor of treacle bursting over his tongue. Eagerly, lovingly, he licked slowly. Blaise pushed up against him, moaning his name.

"Harder," he gasped, "Faster." It was just like the image Harry had had when he first met Blaise in the Muggle club, of Blaise gasping that, and yet it was entirely different, too. He never would have pictured himself eating treacle out of anyone, Merlin it was weird, but good, too.

And the harder he pushed his tongue in, the more Blaise fell apart. He became a moaning, thrashing mess, whimpering when Harry's tongue left, pushing. His hands fell to his sides and he gripped the rim of the table, groaning low and long when Harry's tongue reached deep inside. It was so hot and so good, Harry couldn't stop. He loved Blaise's reactions, and the heat of Blaise around his stroking tongue.

Blaise came suddenly, moaning, and Harry eagerly lapped it up, swiping up come and treacle where it remained on Blaise's thighs and belly. When he was done, he knew he was close to coming, too, but the burning in Blaise's eyes demanded that, again, he enter Blaise with his cock. So with a sigh, he eased himself into that tight, hot hole again.

Groaning, Harry shut his eyes, and thrust slowly inward and out. He got a good rhythm going, and then his cock got overwhelmed with that wonderful, slippery heat and tight grip, and he shot his finish deep within Blaise's body.

When he was done, Blaise sat up, and pulled Harry against him tight. "Please fuck me," he growled, "Right now."

Harry stammered something about not being ready yet, and immediately, with a smirk, Blaise's hands were on his cock. Nimble fingers coaxed little moans from Harry as they gripped, pulled, and rubbed over Harry's cock. When he had had some time to warm up again, he found himself panting at Blaise's touches. They were very planned out, teasing the head, stroking the balls with one finger, and scraping fingernails up and down the length.

Then a hot tongue descended to take their place, and Harry clutched Blaise's hair and moaned wantonly as Blaise suckled at him.

When he was thoroughly slicked, Blaise stopped. He lay back down on the table, hard now too. With his eyes half-lidded in lust, he asked, "Please. Please, Harry. Use all your strength. Make it hard. Ride me like one of those anal-retentive hippogriffs. No, no, like your Firebolt. Smooth, with your thighs clenching tight, natural and easy and flowing."

Harry panted at the words alone, even though it was a cheesy joke, because Blaise crooned it and purred it and moaned it.

He licked in Blaise's hole again, once, twice, slow and long. Then Blaise said, "Please…you have to start."

Grinning at Blaise's impatience, Harry sat up, and with a hand on Blaise's hip and another guiding himself, he pushed all the way inside Blaise in one slide. The Slytherin moaned at the sensation, and as Harry rocked his hips just a little, he gasped. Harry's eyes had slid shut and he was just reveling in how it felt.

When he moved back and then pushed back in slowly, Blaise squeezed around him, and the pleasure rolled up Harry and struck through his whole body. He shivered, moaning, and pushed again, again, again, establishing a rhythm. Blaise's body was hot against him, and his pushing back against Harry sent violent thrums up Harry's cock that had him panting Blaise's name.

"Yes," Blaise moaned, "Harry…" His hands gripped at Harry's waist, then his shoulders, then his hair. He hugged himself tight to Harry's body. When he clenched against Harry's cock, a startled cry shot from Harry's lips, and he moved faster, pushing harder.

"Mmm," Blaise laughed, "I've never played with Gryffindors before. All that bravery and courage turns into passion in bed…oh! Harry…"

Harry's response to Blaise's words was to move faster. His fingers were digging into the soft heat of Blaise's arse, pulling the other man closer. The table jerked and scraped against the floor, adding obscene noises to their melody of moans. Harry was using all his strength, just as Blaise had said, and the heat of Blaise's body was intoxicating, around him, against him, that sibilant voice thrumming lust through him just like his thrumming cock slammed home into Blaise over and over.

When Blaise began to rock back against Harry in earnest, they were shouting, and the pleasure high cascaded down Harry, while it also sprang up from his cock and trickled deep into him. He was dizzy with it, he was incoherent, and he knew he hadn't fucked anyone this hard before. The women he'd enjoyed with were nothing in comparison to Blaise. Their words were cooings meant to put him in their power, their bodies were mush, but Blaise with his hard angles and his soft hands stroking Harry's body, and his voice pleading for more, he was bespelled by Harry, but he invited it. They were entrancing each other, diving into each other, and Harry didn't think he'd ever enjoyed such sensations before.

He pounded Blaise against the table, rough, his hands harsh on Blaise's body, forced to grip Blaise's bony hips, forced by passion to squeeze over Blaise's arse hard enough to bruise. But Blaise loved it, moaning, encouraging Harry. When he lifted his legs so they were up over Harry's shoulders, Harry angled deeper and moved faster. Blaise's body squeezed him so tightly, and felt delicious. He was out of breath, he was pouring sweat. The squeeze of Blaise became tighter, and Harry was making some alien sound, and he could smell treacle all over them both…

And then he came, glorious and long, bursting deep inside Blaise. The Slytherin moaned, pushing up against Harry one more time, and when Harry's hands descended to play with his cock, it took only a moment for him to come all over Harry's hands.

Harry licked it up from his fingers, and then settled himself comfortable over Blaise. His cock remained, softening in Blaise's body. Warm fingers stroked his hair back from his sweaty forehead, and then a tongue slithered into his mouth and thanked him, wordlessly, forcefully. They both relaxed then, panting into the cool night air.

There was nothing like the comfort of being against Blaise's body so intimately. Harry slept, but when he woke occasionally it was to nuzzle closer to Blaise, and to feel Blaise tenderly touching him, stroking his cheek, his neck. He slept dreamlessly, the first he had in a week, and woke with an aching but loose, satisfied feeling in his body the next morning.

Well, more like afternoon. It was late, and a hangover was already turning Harry's initial wakeup joy into misery. Blaise was already awake, still lying beneath him. They sat up, and Harry reluctantly pulled away. He resumed his seat at the table with a groan at the sudden throb of a headache.

Blaise slipped off the table with ease, but his gait was different, awkward from the hard fuck Harry had given him. Harry grinned, watching as Blaise limped over to the kitchen. He bent over the drawers and strained towards the cupboards, giving Harry nice eyefuls of his arse. He mumbled, "Potion, potion," to himself, and occasionally grimaced if he moved too fast. Harry reckoned Blaise's current hangover was worse, since he had drank much more than Harry - at Malfoy's wedding.

Finally he found the potion he wanted, and walked back over to join Harry at the table. He wordlessly handed Harry a steaming cup. He himself drank straight out of the bottle, reminding Harry of the Fire Whiskey the night before. Harry drank the potion, grimacing at the gross taste, and then sat back to wait for its effects.


	6. Chapter 6

**HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE**

by The Ultimate Otaku

_Chapter 6_

_Finally he found the potion he wanted, and walked back over to join Harry at the table. He wordlessly handed Harry a steaming cup. He himself drank straight out of the bottle, reminding Harry of the Fire Whiskey the night before. Harry drank the potion, grimacing at the gross taste, and then sat back to wait for its effects._

"Nasty stuff, isn't it?" Blaise grinned. He had drank his potion, and sat now with his feet on the table, and although he was surely feeling pain he gave no sign of it.

"I've always hated drinking potions," Harry grumbled. "They very rarely taste any good. What's the point of an art where you have to drink the results, when you can't even make it taste good? Even Muggles have an idea of how to make medicine taste better."

"Yes, but their cures don't work as quickly. We have to sacrifice taste for a better result. Magic medicines are always better than Muggle methods."

"I don't know," Harry laughed, "I remember re-growing bones in Second Year, and it was horrible. Fast, yes, but painful."

Blaise Summoned breakfast to them, and halfway through, Harry started to feel normal again. He really wanted a bath though. Years of living with picky Petunia had made him lazy about cleaning himself up as a teenager, but with all the messes he'd experienced working as an Auror (read: garlands of guts, throw-up from ill victim, blood stains), it was wonderful to be clean.

He opened his mouth to suggest another shower together, but Blaise cut him off. "You want a bath, don't you? I noticed you have a sortof thing about being clean."

Harry frowned, and then laughed. "You noticed. Yes. You have a tub? I didn't see one."

Blaise rolled his eyes, and waited for Harry to stand before heading towards the bedroom bathroom. "It's called Transfiguration, Harry. You started learning it when you were eleven. McGonagall was your Head of House, for Merlin's sake. You must use it sometimes at home."

Harry grumbled something and then said, "Please don't give me the Malfoy treatment. I hate that. Besides…I've been living with Muggles lately. I guess some of their habits have rubbed off on me. Plus, it takes up time to do things the Muggle way, and sometimes I have too much time. Muggle methods keep me busy."

Blaise Transfigured the shower into a roomy tub, and switched on the taps. He sat on the rim of it and looked at Harry. "Time? An Auror?"

Harry sighed and leaned against the counter. "My boss insisted I start taking more time off."

The taps turned off with a flick of Blaise's wand. "Oh?" Blaise raised a brow. "Why is that?"

Harry folded his arms across his chest, even though he knew it was a childish defensive pose. "I work too much, alright?" He huffed. "That's the long and short of it."

He brought his wand with him, tucking it in one corner of the tub's expansive protruding shelf, and let himself sink bodily into the water. Its warmth surrounded him, and he basked in it a moment, before surfacing and shaking water from his head.

Blaise sat next to him in the tub, and he nodded his head towards Harry's wand on the shelf. "Paranoid?"

Harry smiled. "Paranoid, otherwise known as Auror, otherwise known as Harry James Potter. Deal with it. It's not about you."

Blaise grinned at him, and began to lather himself with soap. "I like your fire, Harry. I noticed it at school and I liked it, especially when you gave Draco snark back threefold. You may not be Slytherin, but your wit is quick."

"I almost was, actually. In Slytherin," Harry said. It flowed out of him naturally, smoothly, and he regretted it a moment, revealing that secret, but then he saw the surprise on Blaise's face and his regret vanished. He laughed.

"That's the same look Ron gave me when I told him. Is it that surprising?"

Blaise shut his mouth and began to scrub himself. "Well…no, not really. After all, you got through so much, there has to be some good amount of cunning in that head of yours."

He smiled. "Bravery and the ability to plow through to the end don't guarantee success time and time again, I think. But…it is surprising, because that's my House. And you entrenched yourself very deeply in the name Gryffindor, and seemed to loathe so thoroughly the qualities and people of Slytherin."

Harry watched the circles of soap he was creating, and said slowly, "I know what you mean…but…well… I knew that really all Slytherins weren't bad, because how could I say that, when I was almost put there myself? Arrogant to say, but true. My bias was begun from the very start, with something Ron said. And he'd already become a friend before I was Sorted. I realized in the last couple of years at Hogwarts, though, that my thing against Slytherin wasn't all justified, because Slytherins aren't all…well, I can't even say 'like Malfoy,' because he's one of the main reasons I've lost my problem with Slytherin House."

Blaise looked at him. "Draco. Really? Tell me."

"Well." Harry swallowed. "He didn't kill Dumbledore, for one thing. Snape did."

Harry took a deep breath. "And…his mother helped me, right after I came back to life, after Voldemort killed me. I feel like they've redeemed themselves a little over the past few years, especially Narcissa Malfoy, testifying against Death Eaters in one or two cases…and Malfoy showed that he's human. A coward, yes, impressionable, yes, rude and stupid sometimes…but he's not as bad as I always thought he was. We all have things we've regretted…and I'm sure he does, when he sees that faded Mark on his arm."

Harry looked up, and Blaise was studying him again. He bit his lip thoughtfully, and then nodded. "He does, you know. I'm not privy to a lot of what goes on in his head, but I've heard some of it. I think that he does wish he'd made different choices, sometimes."

"I hope the choice of Astoria Greengrass doesn't blow up on him."

Blaise smiled at Harry, and then kissed him gently. "You're generous, to care. I hope it doesn't, either. Should we go out to lunch, or dinner as planned?"

Harry was hungry, but the idea of a moonlit dinner, however cheesy that was, had swirled in his head last night, and he wasn't quite ready to give it up. Besides, if they had lunch, then perhaps he'd have to leave sooner. Having dinner made sure that Blaise had to spend the day with him. Because he wasn't leaving now, only to come back later. No way was he going to sulk alone at his flat.

But what would he do, in an afternoon with Blaise?

"Dinner. But don't expect me to have any ideas for what to do until then."

Blaise tapped Harry on the temple, and rose from the bath. "Use that Slytherin-like brain of yours. What do you do in your spare time? You said you have so much of it. Surely Granger and Weasley aren't so busy that they can't spare time for you."

Harry stood up, too, and stood dripping on the tiles until Blaise handed him a towel. He scrubbed himself over with it, and then his clothes, clean and dry, were put in front of him, and he put those on.

"It's not that they have no time for me," he explained. "It's that I have no time for them. They're still expecting me to get back together with Ginny."

Blaise rolled his eyes again, and then smiled when Harry smiled at him. "How long has it been since you broke it with her?"

Harry watched with simultaneous sadness and eagerness as Blaise dressed – brown trousers with a flattering fit, a casual smooth blue shirt, slightly heeled squeaky glossy shoes, a spritz of something in his hair that made it tamed but still teasing. He answered, "One month," and followed Blaise out onto the balcony.

"Hmm. And they haven't gotten the point yet?" Blaise shook his head. "And knowing how stubborn you are. Well, that's plain stupid."

Harry grinned at him. "Thanks."

Blaise winked. "Pleasure. So, what do you feel like doing? We can do anything, and go anywhere. No limits."

Harry blushed, because he was happy that there were no limits, and he felt embarrassed with how happy he was with all of this. He looked away so Blaise wouldn't read it in his face. He was delighted that Blaise was so easy to be with. Blaise was courteous. He was kind. He was funny, and understanding, and hadn't asked Harry an annoying, prying question since Harry had pointedly requested he not. And he was sexy in nothing and anything, and he had his entire day free for Harry.

They could go anywhere and do anything! Harry wanted to laugh. This was just the sort of thing he'd burned for as a child – a free day, with no Dursleys or lack of money to stop him from doing anything. And friends, of course. He'd desperately wished for friends. He had them now, and money, and more free time, but Blaise, whose companionship was proving quite enjoyable, was all of that and more.

Here he had wanted this sort of thing as a child – time, friends, money – and he couldn't think of what to do. He had no idea.

Harry laughed. "I don't know what to do. I would be happy with anything, really. There's so much out there I haven't seen, places I haven't been…work ties me down, I don't get to travel a lot. I'd love to go flying…" He sighed, in an embarrassingly revealing, wistful fashion.

Blaise looked perturbed. "You don't get to go flying whenever you want to?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Work gets in the way. And the reporters…and people, including friends…and not wanting to be seen around my Muggle neighborhood… etcetera."

"Hmm. I think those are all easily overcome." Blaise frowned out over the park. "We must go flying, then. Do you have your broom with you?"

"No."

Blaise raised his brows. "Let's go get it."

Harry cringed, and wasn't able to hide it before Blaise saw it. "Um, well," he sputtered in the face of Blaise's curious expression, "My, my flat…" He sighed, and then laughed. "It's an absolute sty! I'm miserable at cleaning spells."

Blaise laughed, and that started Harry laughing again. "I don't care, Harry!" he said. "I don't care if your flat is dirty. I'll help you clean it. After we go flying. And then we can go out to dinner somewhere pleasant and quiet. Come on."

Clean his flat? Oh no. Hope flared up in Harry – maybe Blaise really did like Harry for more than just sex? – and also self loathing, for even wanting that. Couldn't he learn how to be happy alone? Harry didn't like feeling needy. He sucked in a breath and schooled his face not to show the feelings in him.

He held his arms out, and it was ridiculous how good it felt and how easy it was – already, already, and he had only known this man for two nights! – to step into his embrace.

Harry thought of his flat and Apparated them in a single turn.

They arrived in his bedroom, and Harry dove for his closet where he proceeded to begin unlocking the sets of spells on it that kept his Firebolt and some other things safe. He wanted to leave soon, so that Blaise wouldn't see how badly kept his flat was. But it was too late, for already Blaise was looking around. He saw the unmade bed in the corner by the window, the tall electric lamp next to it, the bookshelves, and the desk, which was cluttered.

Folders of case files were littered all over, amidst Quidditch magazines and candy wrappers. A trunk at the foot of Harry's bed was so full that things were bursting out of it. He had potions items on a little shelf on one wall, alongside a Quidditch calendar, and an old Gryffindor badge hanging on a nail next to that. It seemed silly, now. Framed moving pictures of Ron and Hermione, the Weasley family, Dumbledore, and his parents sat on his desk and bedside table. Blaise hovered there longer, and Harry took advantage of the time to grab his Firebolt.

"Ready?"

Blaise turned and surveyed Harry as if Harry were part of the room. Harry laughed nervously and scratched his head. His broom was thrumming in his hand already, as if eager to be used after being neglected for too long.

"Alright," Blaise said. "But I'm coming back with you, to help you clean. I promised I would, and I won't back out. Besides, you need the help," he laughed, "Although frankly, I thought it would be worse."

Harry laughed. "You haven't seen the laundry room."

Blaise Apparated them back to his flat, and unpacked his broom from a very nice custom made trunk that Harry envied for one brief flash. Blaise's broom was a sleek reddish wood, with every twig nearly in place. Also a Firebolt.

Harry stood waiting, not sure how they were going to pull this off or where from. "Why didn't you play Quidditch at Hogwarts?" he asked.

Blaise took his arm and Harry followed him out of the bedroom and into the hallway. They stood there a moment, and Blaise was silent. He turned to face a picture on the wall, and tapped his wand twice on the right side of the picture frame, once on the left, twice to bottom, once on top, then once in the middle.

"Seven," he whispered to himself, and then whispered a password to the frame. Immediately it shrunk down, dropped to the floor, and scuttled away like a sort of crab. Again Blaise tapped, now at the revealed wall, and then he carved some symbol in the air while saying another spell Harry couldn't quite hear.

Then he yanked Harry's arm, and they fell through the wall. A secret lift was there, and Blaise said, "Fire escape."

The lift whirred them in a stomach-lurching pattern sideways, up, around, and up again, and then dumped them unceremoniously on a rickety stairway landing after Blaise checked for people.

"There," he said, as he got up smiling. "Nobody's around."

They were at the very back of the building, and directly in front of them was the plain wall of the back of another apartment building. They were so high up, that the nearest row of windows was below them.

"Sorry about the whispering. I have to do that with everyone who visits, if they come out here with me, because I don't want anyone jeopardizing the safety of my flat. To answer your question," Blaise said, "I didn't play Quidditch because I'm a very private person, and I already had enough reputation by my First Year, because my mother had already killed three husbands – my father was Husband Two, in case you're wondering. I didn't want the extra attention, I didn't give a whit for glory, and I had enough fun playing it with others during the summer. If I were on a team, I would make a decent Chaser."

Harry made a face. "On the having a reputation already in First Year…I can relate."

They laughed, and mounted their brooms. Immediately Harry felt that familiar rush of adrenaline and joy surge into him. Flying! It had been way too long! He looked over at Blaise and said, "Any particular direction we should go?"

"Up."

Harry kicked off and hurtled upwards, far beyond the roofs of the nearby buildings, up into the clouds, wind and sunlight. He shut his eyes and just let himself go. It felt so perfect to be up here, to have no more walls – no shutting himself up in the boxlike rooms of his flat, no people trying to shut him in, no more having to shut his friends or Ginny or anyone out. It was just him and his Firebolt, with the entire sky available.

He flew with abandon, rushing, slowing, twirling, diving, around and around. When he focused again, he saw that Blaise was up above him, smiling and watching.

"I love this!" Harry shouted up at him. "Thank you!"

Blaise shrugged, turning around Harry in a figure eight. "No trouble. Besides, I didn't really _do_ anything."

Harry grinned at him. "Yes, you did. You made this happen. You shot down my stupid reasons for not going out flying. And you're here with me, and it's better with someone. Sometimes. When I'm not intensely concentrating on the Snitch, it's better."

"You have a full set of Quidditch equipment?"

Harry shook his head. "Just a Snitch. I like to keep one on hand. I don't want to get rusty."

He didn't tell Blaise the back story, that one Snitch he had was the very same he'd first touched, the one that Dumbledore had placed the Resurrection Stone in. He still had it, because he had a fondness for it. The one he actually played with was another, which Ginny, Ron and Hermione had bought for him with loads of savings last year. He'd been going out for lone practice sessions with it since (against the advice of Hermione, who thought it far too dangerous – what if he had an accident and no one was there to help? She had a point. Harry just didn't want to listen).

"Do you have it on you?"

"No. Just flying is all right with me, for now. Have you ever been night flying?"

They were side by side now, dipping down through clouds to look at the view a moment, then back up.

"I like night flying," Blaise said, "Especially in the country. It's very quiet. Different. And you get beautiful sights in winter…the snow just lying over everything. It gets cold, of course. A simple warming spell in a coat only lasts so long. And I would use Fire Whiskey, but drinking and flying don't go very well together."

Harry laughed. "That makes me think of Muggles. They say the same about drinking and driving cars. Of course, it's not really funny. A lot of people get killed from drunk driving."

Blaise leaned back on his broom, casual, resting. "Do you do a lot of things the Muggle way, Harry?"

Harry felt his face go hot. "No, not a lot. I Apparate a lot, I read the magical news like everyone else, I owl, and a lot of my free time places are wizarding. But I do like to go out clubbing at Muggle places on Friday nights sometimes…"

They smiled together, knowingly, in camaraderie, in gladness for how they had met – again.

He dared the question he didn't really want to ask. "Does it bother you that I live amongst Muggles? That I do some things their way?"

Blaise flew closer, and slid a hand up Harry's arm. His smile seemed warmer in the sunlight somehow, his eyes brighter. "No, not really. I care more about who people are than how they do things. But, I suppose if someone were to choose Muggle over magical, and weren't a Squib, then I would wonder."

Harry nodded. "I would, too. I grew up in a Muggle household, but it was a dream come true when I got my Hogwarts letter. I wouldn't give up all this for anything…I wouldn't have a life, really, without magic. I mean, I would still be thinking that my parents died in a car crash, and weird things would be going on around me with no explanation…talking to snakes and all that with no answers, I think I would've gone nuts by now."

"You can't do it anymore, can you. Parseltongue."

Harry blinked. "How did you know? Not a lot of people know that. They don't know why I was able to speak it in the first place."

"Rumors in the media. So they're true?"

Harry flew up and around in circles. "Yes, they are. I can't speak it anymore, because Voldemort killed that part of me, when he killed me, before I came back."

He was nervous. He didn't talk to very many people about this, not even Ron and Hermione. But Blaise was so easy to talk to. Was that a problem, or good? It was good, right? Because he trusted Blaise with the information. He really did, he realized.

"So now all the Slytherin bits in you are dead? Guess you're not as clever as I thought after all," Blaise smirked.

They laughed together. The sun was still bright in the sky, and for what might have been hours, or maybe minutes, they flew more, far enough that Harry thought maybe they were near his flat. They flew back leisurely, and when it was time to go back down because of the combination of rain and Harry's stomach rumbling, he didn't want to.

"Er, Blaise," he murmured, looking over at the handsome man leaning over his broom across from him. "Can we do this again? Flying. Together. Maybe we could try a night time trip or something."

That melting smile flashed in Harry's direction. "I'd love to."

They landed back at the fire escape after checking for people, and again took the horrible lift, and were back in Blaise's apartment as the sun was disappearing over the horizon line.

"I know it's early," Harry said, "but I'm starving."

Blaise finished putting his broom away, and tucked Harry's carefully beneath his bed. "It's all the sex," he explained, "And the Fire Whiskey. They make you hungrier than is rational."

He gave Harry a devilish grin, to which Harry could only laugh in response. Then he took Harry's arm, and said, "First things first. We have to clean your flat."

Harry's stomach grumbled as if to voice his feelings on that idea. "Can't that wait, Blaise?"

Long lashes stroked down, then back up, and Blaise was closer now, smiling at Harry tenderly. "I like it when you call me Blaise," he whispered, "During sex or conversation."

Then he was leaning in, and Harry accepted the long, tonguing kiss that Blaise gave him. It made him a little hungry in a different way. He sighed into Blaise's mouth, kissing back, wrapping dark curls around his fingers and tugging.

"I'll be fast, I promise," Blaise assured Harry, and grumbling, Harry grabbed his broom, and then they Apparated back to his messy flat.

He stayed behind, putting his broom away as slow as he could, while Blaise stepped out to start cleaning – or, as Harry suspected, to look around when Harry's resentful gaze wasn't there. Soundlessly he walked around, and Harry, with his wand tucked away, could not help but think – this was dangerous. He would never allow someone who he had only known for a couple days into his apartment, especially a competent wizard, especially someone with family in the Dark Arts. As an Auror, his brain told him this was stupid. But as a man, as Harry, it told him not to be so paranoid.

He wondered if being around Blaise was going to make him lose his sense of caution, timing, and a sense for the criminal, all which he needed as an Auror. He needed to expect danger around every corner. He needed to wonder about the backgrounds of fellow witches and wizards. He needed to know their backgrounds, in case there were clues to any of his cases. He needed to know who carried their wand with them always, and who didn't. He _needed_ to be "paranoid," because that paranoia could mean the difference between life and death.

With a sigh, while making sure his hand was close to his wand, Harry walked down the short hallway to his living room.

Blaise sat on an utterly clean couch that was almost unrecognizable. It had no dust. It had no clothes or books or junk piled on it. Its pillows were fluffed and spotless, and the coffee table in front of it shone. Blaise had his feet rested there, and his arms were on either side of him. He surveyed the room and then looked at Harry.

"It's like you're living at the bottom of Hogwarts Lake," he smiled, a wide smile that was close to laughter, "some things here are useful, but most of it can go. And a lot of it is just shit. And perhaps there's one or two dangerous items, one or two 'mermaids' or 'Giant Squid' things."

Harry really liked that analogy, and knew it was true. A lot of the things he had lying around could be gotten rid of – broken Dark Arts items he had been studying for work but never figured out, books he would never read that he'd been gifted, and a conspicuously unopened Potions kit, to name a few.

"Where do I start? I want to help. I'm not going to let you clean my whole flat alone."

Blaise grinned. "Just how bad are you at cleaning spells? If you're really bad, then you'll just make it harder for me."

"Uh…" Harry blushed. He felt really stupid now. "I admit most of it is laziness."

"How about you start in the laundry room, since you think it's so bad that you don't want me to see it. I haven't even found where it is, anyway. I'll do the living room."

"Thanks."

Harry put himself in the laundry room behind the large living room, and set to moving, washing, and drying his clothes. A couple items got burned, or were flung against the wall by accident, but for the most part he did alright. (And some of the clothes, Ginny's, he burned on purpose). From behind him he could hear Blaise murmuring spells, and occasionally the grind of furniture moving, when Blaise hadn't the space to shift things silently with a spell.

He was a little afraid of what he would see when he returned to the living room. For how would he ever keep it up to whatever standard Blaise would establish for it?

His thoughts were interrupted by the alarming sound of his doorbell ringing. Ding, dong, ding, dong! Harry stood up straight quickly, and stepped into the laundry room doorway. Blaise stood across the room, and their eyes met.

Shit!

Harry checked his magical danger items to see if the intruder was anyone but a Muggle, even if only Muggles ever seemed to ring his door bell. After checking it was safe, he gestured quickly to Blaise to help him set things back to "normal."

Hovering furniture slammed down to the floor with a couple ungraceful bangs. Harry hoped they didn't break anything. Other items that were magical and miscellaneous were shrunk down and shoved into a drawer messily. Harry thrust a pile of magical newspapers into a cupboard, while Blaise magicked the moving pictures in the living room to be still (the people in his photos didn't like that much, but Blaise was forceful about it).

Finally everything was Muggle-ized, and Harry answered the door breathlessly. "Sorry about that," he wheezed, "We were lifting a sofa. What's the problem?"

A woman he vaguely recognized was standing in his doorway in trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. She eyed Blaise standing in the background, and for a moment Harry felt like he should have his wand in his hand, but then her gaze returned to Harry and she smiled.

"I was just wondering if you could keep it down a little, if possible," she said, "I live below you, and you two were making a bit of a racket with all that furniture. But I suppose you can't help it. It's not as if you can float it, after all!"

She laughed, and Harry laughed with her. He smiled, running a hand through his hair, saying, "Yeah, sorry about that. We'll try to be done as quickly as possible. I'm finally cleaning my place, so it's hard to get behind some areas…we'll try to be more careful about it. I'm glad you came up to ask. Feel free to come by if we make too much noise again."

"Alright, thanks." She was already turning away, and walking down the corridor. "See you."

"Bye."

Harry waved and shut the door, and then slammed himself unceremoniously against it, gasping. "That was close."

Blaise stood just looking at Harry, smiling. "Very close. Does that happen a lot? My Muggle neighbors tend to leave the flat and my supposed roommate alone. You must be very social."

Harry shrugged. "Well, it does change things, because of the fact that the Muggles know where I live, whereas they think you live next door with that witch."

Blaise had spelled the heavy furniture up into the air again, and was casting cleaning spells on the floor in quick stabbing motions. "True, but still…I think you're just afraid to admit that you enjoy their company. It's alright. And maybe you're lonely, too. It takes time getting used to living alone, I imagine. I was brought up mostly alone, so I'm used to it, but you weren't."

Harry's stomach would have felt queasy at where the topic of conversation was going, if it weren't so hungry. Blaise had a way of getting to the heart of matters when he really wanted to. Was he worried for Harry?

"Thank you for the concern. You're right again, as usual. But do we have to talk about it? It makes me feel like crap, honestly."

Blaise let his wand hand drop, and he looked straight at Harry. "You have got to take more control of your life, Harry. That's what you're missing. You're so used to everyone else controlling it for you. Those Muggles you lived with…Dumbledore…your friends, then and now. I'm not here to control your life. I want you to take the reins. Do what you will with life. Make it yours. Work for your happiness. Don't let it drown you."

Harry knew Blaise was right. He had been controlled by so many, and those who controlled him, though he had loved some of them and still did (Dumbledore, his friends, etc.), still he had a right to take control of his own life. But he didn't want a lonely, self-contained life where he'd arranged things for himself. He _did_ want to be with someone, because he was afraid that he was terrible at knowing what to do all by himself. Somehow, he wasn't fulfilled enough all alone, even with his work that he wouldn't leave for the world.

"I suppose you're right," Harry nodded, "I'm going through a sort of transition period, in several senses of the word."

"Those are often the most interesting parts of life. Aren't you going to finish the laundry room?"

For Harry was standing there, just looking at Blaise. He'd been thinking that it was another plus that this man seemed to intuit what was going on with Harry, without Harry having to struggle to get it out. And maybe Blaise was even willing to help Harry get himself and his life together more.

He shook himself from his reverie and returned to the laundry. A little while later and his stomach was positively growling. He walked out into the living room with his mouth open, ready to ask about dinner, but then his mouth remained open.

The floor was clear. The furniture was all dusted, poofed, scrubbed, and perfect. Even the windowsills were shining. His television shelf had magazines on one side, piled neatly, and all signs of his case files were gone from the living room. Candy wrappers were gone. Stains from potions and spells were cleared. His kitchen…Harry stumbled into it, still gaping. The counters were clear. He opened his cupboards. The items were organized, in rows, in piles, cups and plates easy to reach. The hallway's shelf of books was neatened.

Harry stepped into his room, and Blaise was there, lying on his bed. God, that gave Harry ideas. Blaise smiled, turning onto his belly, and flung his hair back from his face. "Do you like it? I left your room for you to clean. I didn't want to accidentally find anything private. But I put your case files in the drawers of your desk where they belong. I'll admit to opening a couple, but I read no names. It's startling to see what you work with every day…all of that gore, there's no romanticizing that."

Harry joined him on the bed, and slowly lay down next to Blaise. It was a tight fit, but it felt good.

"But," Blaise continued, "Looking at a couple of your files didn't ruin my appetite. How's yours?"

Again Harry was struck by the insinuation of Blaise's words. Was his meaning purely literal, or also sexual? Or _only_ sexual?

Harry sat up and leaned over Blaise, and kissed him. He showed the hunger in his kiss, the desire that he felt springing in him at the sight of Blaise in his room, on his bed. He had thought he wouldn't like it, especially because his room was still relatively messy, but he didn't just like it, he loved it. He really enjoyed the sight of Blaise stretched out in his bedroom, on his bed, his sweet smell on the sheets, wisps of his hair left on Harry's pillow for later…

He kissed Blaise deeply, licking, tonguing, passionate enough that Blaise moaned. At the same time his hands drifted up beneath Blaise's shirt, just touching Blaise's soft skin. His lover reached his arms up to pull Harry closer, moving his lips gently over Harry's, moving his hands over Harry's arse and groping.

They pulled apart and wordlessly stared at each other. Harry was caught by the desire and happiness that flooded Blaise's warm gaze, and he leaned in to give Blaise another kiss, but Blaise stopped him with a finger against his mouth.

"We have to stop, or else you'll starve," Blaise murmured, "And besides, this will give us something to look forward to after dinner."

Harry smiled, and gave a lick to Blaise's finger and then sat up. "Yes. So where would you like to eat? Do I need to dress up?"

"Fine as is. Are you a fan of Italian?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. That's where your mother comes from, isn't it? Italy?"

"Yes. We have a castle there, and she's not visiting that one at the moment. Would you like to go?"

"Wait. To Italy? You have a manor there?"

"A castle, yes. I can have the chef make something for us, and then we can do some night flying before we return, if we aren't too full. Do you like the idea?"

Harry grinned. "Italy! Of course. Let's go."

They stood up, and Harry took Blaise's hand. Then it was all a whirl…

And they were on a small island, in the midst of a lake. To Harry's left loomed a beautiful castle. It was much smaller than the Hogwarts castle, and more delicate looking, with parapets and stained glass, and one lone tower. Two large windows emitted light. Harry could see a long ballroom of sorts, and floating candles like at Hogwarts. On the island, they sat in a sort of villa, with warmly painted walls, magical tapestries, and a cozy cushioned seat for two by a round glass table. Blaise spoke to a waiter, who then disappeared to speak with the chef, assumedly.

Harry leaned into Blaise, whispering, "Thank you."

Blaise accepted the kiss to his cheek with a smile. "I thought you were going to ask if I had any House Elves, because of your friend Granger. I do, but only a few. They remain at the castle and maintain it in my absence. For the most part, I like to take care of the food part myself – when I'm at my flat, my preferred lodgings - because it comes easy to me. It's a little like potions, too, and I've always been good at that."

"Heh, you, too? It's like a Slytherin thing, to be good at Potions."

The food was brought to their table, and Harry stared. Breads, pies, cheeses, soups, pastas, delicious looking things he knew not the names of, were all piled on the glass table. A plate and cup was set up with silverware for each of them.

"Potions isn't a Slytherin specialty." Blaise took a bite from one of the breads on the table. "Look at Crabbe and Goyle."

Harry pulled several bowls and plates of things closer and began to pile interesting looking food on his plate. "Well, they were bad at everything, except perhaps as Beaters."

"Ha! They weren't even good at that."

Harry sank into his meal then, relishing the bursts of flavors on his tongue, and filling his poor pleading stomach. It was all delicious, and so rich and heavy that after a time, even having been brought up with years of Hogwarts food, he was so full that he couldn't finish his plate. He pushed it away, and leaned back into the cushions.

"Ah, that feels better…"

"I haven't even brought the dessert out. Are you sure you're done?" Blaise grinned down at Harry wickedly. He had one arm flung across the back of the seat, and the tips of his fingers combed through Harry's hair.

"I can't eat another bite right now," Harry moaned. "Not even treacle."

Blaise smirked. "That is serious. You wouldn't eat it even if I slathered it all over myself at this point?"

Harry let his gaze drift down and up Blaise's body, and when his gaze returned to Blaise's, he saw desire there. "I can't say no to that," Harry admitted. "Even though it would be sortof torturous, given how full I am at the moment."

"I do like to torture you. But I think I'll be merciful."

Harry grinned. "Thanks."

They sat back comfily together, and Harry let his gaze just drift, taking in the villa. He liked the warm colors, the cool night breeze, the curtains and the elegant mirrors. Then Blaise's voice came in his ear. "So, how are your friends doing? Are they happy? Have Granger and Weasley finally admitted they're desperately in love?"

Harry laughed. "It was that obvious, wasn't it? Yeah, they have. They did that back in…well, when we were out and about, when they were helping me defeat Voldemort. I think they're going to get married some day. But for now they're just sortof dating. They visit each other a lot. Hermione's at the Burrow all the time."

"And your other friends?"

"Well, Luna's off in Switzerland looking for Crumple Horned Snorkacks with her father. She writes me letters. She always makes me laugh."

"Hmm." Blaise smiled. "They're odd ones, the Lovegoods. But I always found her funny, too. And Lupin, the werewolf, you mentioned him. I thought he died in the Battle of Hogwarts."

Harry shook his head. "Nearly. It was very close. He's…well…his wife, Tonks…she died. They had a son, and the two of them live with Tonks' parents now. But he doesn't always get to see Teddy, because he's trying to help the Ministry with werewolves. Now that Hermione's been getting more equal rights propaganda out there, they are starting to think of things a little differently."

"Oh really? Your friend is finally successful with her activism, then. Good for her."

"Yes." Harry smiled. "And what about your friends? Besides happily married Malfoy. I suppose he's on the honeymoon now, isn't he?"

Blaise laughed. "Yes, thank Merlin. I won't have him popping up at my flat or demanding I attend something with him for a week. My other friends are faring well, thank you. I have many foreign friends from around the globe. I never got on so well with people at Hogwarts. Pansy, of course as you know, is still around. I've put her in the care of Theo Nott, for now, because he's more a friend to her than I am, and he knows Draco well, so he won't say anything to her that will create more trouble for Draco.

"The foreign friends are all well. Studying, some married, some not. I know some scientists who are in Russia, and one Chinese wizard who does some fascinating work in Potions. He dabbles in magical creature work, too. I reckon he'd find loads more things in the park by my flat. He has a keen eye."

Harry pushed himself closer in to Blaise. "I like that, foreign friends. I wish I had more. I would like to visit more places. There is so much to see in the wizarding world, and I know I haven't seen the half of it. People think I'm quite something because I defeated Voldemort, but really, there's plenty of things I haven't done, and areas I'm ignorant in. I'd like to know more – but I want to experience it, not inhale it through books like Hermione does. I can be quite curious…I've even been known to eavesdrop."

Blaise laughed. "The Invisibility Cloak, right? I remember Draco whingeing on it about so much back at Hogwarts. He got on my nerves. I would love to see that thing, sometime, if you still have it."

"I do."

Harry was struck by how content Blaise was, and how content he felt in his company. All Blaise's friends seemed just as content as him. Were they all so laid back, with easy jobs? He was so used to trouble and mayhem day in and day out in his job as an Auror. It couldn't all be daisies and sunshine in the countries Blaise's friends lived in, but he supposed they weren't the types to get into trouble, anyway, if Blaise himself was anything to go by.

That reminded him of something he'd wanted to say earlier. "Blaise. Please don't look at my case files. I appreciate that you didn't read any names, because that is confidential – it all is. And besides, I wouldn't want you to see all of that."

Blaise turned his head to look right at Harry. "You're so protective. Always trying to save people. But, I understand. I like to keep my private things private, too. I won't look again. And trust me, I can defend myself properly in a dangerous situation if needs be."

Harry nodded shortly. "Good."

He thought Blaise might ask him something about his job then, and he didn't want to go there, not on off hours, not when he had nightmares about dead victims enough. Before Blaise could ask anything, Harry asked, "What's the best Quidditch match you've commentated for?"

"Hmm. Tough…"Blaise slumped further in his seat, and lifted his feet to put them on the table now. "I've seen the Vultures play, and they're amazing, of course. Champions of Europe seven times. The Falcons are known for being quite vicious. I have to say I'm a fan of them, even if they're horrid, because they make me laugh with how far they are willing to go. In seriousness though, I'm a fan of the Magpies, and of the Harpies, because it's interesting to see an all-female team. I also like Peru's team, I saw them play once and they were brilliant. And Massachusetts has produced loads of interesting wizard and witches, including Quidditch players. Their team won the US league seven times."

He turned to Harry, who had tons of questions and was smiling. "Blaise, I wish I'd seen all those games. It's no fair! I want you to tell me more on why Peru is so good. But you haven't answered my first question."

Blaise laughed. "Sorry. If you get me going on Quidditch, sometimes I can't stop."

"You might get along with Ron, then."

Blaise raised his brows. "Yes, but he likes the Cannons, doesn't he? They're absolute shite."

The two of them laughed. Harry hadn't seen half as many games as he wished, but he had read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and other Quidditch books so many times. And you didn't have to know much about Quidditch to know how bad the Chudley Cannons were.

"I want to answer your question, though." Blaise sat up a little straighter. "I think I'd have to say commentating for the Thunders versus Warriors was most intense and interesting, because they're two of the teams that have a big rivalry going, so all the fans were very vocal and fully invested in it. You could feel the energy in the stadium. I can't say I really like the job, but when it's a furious match like that, I actually quite enjoy it."

Harry smiled. He was happy that he could talk to Blaise about Quidditch, because he loved it. And Blaise knew so much about all these teams; he thought of Ron, and his love for the Chudley Cannons. He hadn't ever really picked a favorite team, himself.

"Getting to see all these games sounds great. Why don't you like the job?"

Blaise sighed. "Well. It's very demanding. The Quidditch teams and stadiums and managers can be very competitive. Sometimes I'm forced to choose who to commentate for. The goal, of course, is to eventually commentate for some grand thing like the Quidditch World Cup we went to before our Fourth year."

He paused. "That is, it would have been grand if the Death Eaters hadn't spoiled it…The people who hire me – honestly, the entire Quidditch industry – are all very self-important. I hate that. And I don't really get to dive into a game quite the same way when I commentate for it. I'm an outsider."

Flashes of those Death Eaters marching and floating that Muggle family in the air shot through Harry's mind. He shuddered, and then got a hold of himself. "I would hate to go to a game and not be able to enjoy it."

Blaise nodded, and then stood up. "Let's sit outside."

Harry followed Blaise slowly outside, and sat down on the bench by the lake. It was beautiful, the stars, the castle, the lake, and it reminded him of Hogwarts. He felt a little nostalgic and sad for a moment, but then Blaise pulled him in close, and Harry pushed his nose against Blaise's neck – whether because of the cold, or his tendency towards sad thoughts, he wasn't sure.

He sat like that a while, just breathing in the scent of Blaise. His hand was on Blaise's thigh, and Blaise's hand was under his, stroking at the skin of Harry's palm. It was a comforting gesture, and Harry almost wanted to fall asleep on Blaise right then and there. He did feel awfully tired now…

"Last night catching up to you?"

Harry groaned, and moved his head an inch so he could look at the lake but keep his head on Blaise's shoulder. "Yes. Horribly so."

"No flying tonight then, I guess. That reminds me. One bonus of my work is that I get to go to professional games without having to pay for a good box, or I can get a discount, sometimes. Would you like to go a Quidditch game with me?"

Harry lifted his head and looked at Blaise. "Like a real, live match? What, Hogwarts?"

"No, not Hogwarts, although we can sometime, if you'd like. It would leave us in different parts of the crowd," Blaise smiled.

Harry chuckled. "I would sit with Gryffindor, and you with Slytherin."

"Exactly. That's why we won't go to a Hogwarts game this week. We'll go to a bigger match."

_This week._ Meaning Blaise wanted another time where they _did_ go to a Hogwarts game. Harry swallowed. His hopes were being buoyed by all of Blaise's suggestions and apparent eagerness to spend more time with him.

He was a little curious who versus who, what country, when, but in the moment he was mostly giddy that he was going with Blaise, that Blaise had invited him, and that he would get to see a big Quidditch game.

"But…I don't have the funds, necessarily."

Blaise waved his hand in the air. "Don't worry. You're attending as my guest. Free of cost."

"You get all that, just because you're the voice for the game?" Whoops. Harry regretted that right away. It sounded like he thought nothing of Blaise's job. Then again, Blaise had said he disliked this one the more out of his two jobs. And Harry's question earlier had shown that he'd thought it could be enjoyable himself.

"Yes, I do." Blaise didn't look offended at Harry's comment. He was smiling at Harry, as if perhaps Harry had voiced what others had. Oh, no. "They need my position the most, arguably; there are plenty of Quidditch teams, and places to host them, but not a lot of Quidditch announcers. It takes a lot of attention, you don't really get to enjoy the game, and you have to be there whenever they say. It's not a job a lot of people want to take on."

"Why did you take it on, then?"

Blaise shrugged. "It sounded interesting. And even if it takes up more time than I like sometimes, it still leaves me plenty time to do what I wish at home or anywhere else."

Again that freedom. Harry breathed a sigh of relief that he was in this freedom, for a moment, for a day, for a weekend, until his own job called him away from it, back into the intense aggressive search for killers, for criminal startups trying to revive the Voldemort following, and other troublemakers.

"What about your job?" Blaise had seemed to read the emotions on Harry's face.

"I couldn't imagine doing anything else," Harry said firmly.

And it was true. He had wanted to be an Auror since the idea had been put into his head in Fourth Year, and although it was a hard job, he always felt passionate about it. He insisted that people be safe and killers be brought to justice, and even though it hurt a lot when he failed, and even though he had to go up against disgusting, powerful people, it was fulfilling, in a way many other things in Harry's life weren't.

Except Blaise. Blaise was fast giving Harry more fulfillment than anyone or anything had in a while. With fulfillment in mind – he wanted Blaise on his bed again – Harry grabbed Blaise's hand, and said, "Let's go back."

"Back where?" Blaise's eyes flashed with eagerness, and his smile was slow and easy. He had an idea of what Harry wanted.

"My room," Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively like Blaise had last night, was it? "My bed."

"Yes," Blaise breathed, "Let's make it messier…can we do something vertical as well?"

Harry flushed. "Yeah."


	7. Chapter 7

**HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE**

by The Ultimate Otaku

_Chapter 7_

They returned to Harry's flat, and the crack of Apparition was still echoing in Harry's mind when he found himself lying on top of his bed. Crouched over him, Blaise made the bed seem small, and his figure cast a shadow over Harry in the moonlight.

Harry leaned up to grab Blaise's collar and pull him down into a kiss. With his hips, he eased upward and over, and Blaise got the point and switched their positions, so that Harry was above him. His eyes were bright and he smiled as he looked up at Harry.

"There's that Gryffindor sense of power again," he murmured, "I like it. I swear it's what won you so many games of Quidditch at Hogwarts, besides your obvious talent as a Seeker."

Harry kissed Blaise once, twice, on the mouth. "No need to envy us," he breathed, "You have all the cunning, remember?"

He was at Blaise's neck then, licking and biting. His fingers yanked Blaise's shirt out of its tuck in Blaise's trousers, and he pushed his hand down inside. The dark man groaned at his eagerness, arching up into his touch. He panted as Harry fondled him, rubbing, and when he was hard Harry removed his hand and sunk further down in Blaise's lap, grinding them together.

"Mmm, Harry…" Blaise moaned low. "You really want it."

Harry's only answer was to whimper at the sensation of Blaise's burgeoning trouser tent rubbing against him. He moved up a little then, settling his arse firmly over Blaise, and began to tease him in that way. He rid Blaise of the dark trousers so only his underclothes were left, and teasingly, achingly, pushed and wiggled so that Blaise's hardness slid between the cheeks of his arse.

"Fuck," Blaise panted, "My torturous ways are rubbing off on you…mmm!" He bucked up against Harry, making Harry shudder in pleasure. His cock was a sweet heat beneath Harry, driving him to sink lower against Blaise, driving him to jerk up and down as if Blaise's heat was already thrusting into him.

Blaise wasn't in the mood to wait or stand any more teasing, it seemed. He heaved himself up, taking Harry by the shoulders, and pushed Harry bodily back against the closet wall. Panting, his face flushed, he stripped Harry silently. Then he spelled off his own clothes. A tube of lubricant appeared in his hands a moment later, and Harry watched as Blaise rubbed it over himself in quick, easy motions.

Then he positioned himself, and pushed into Harry in one smooth slide. Harry moaned at the fullness of it. He knew he would ache tomorrow from the hard fucking, but it was so good right now to savor that amazing heat and firmness of Blaise within him. Besides, the Slytherin was flushed and trembling already, his hands hard and eager as they held Harry up and also fondled and groped him everywhere possible.

Slowly, with his lips parted in gasps and his eyes fluttering shut and open, Blaise began to move. Harry's response was to push down once, hard. That drove Blaise deeply within him, and it was so good that he seemed to "see stars," as the Muggle phrasing went, and his hands grasped at Blaise's shoulders like talons. Encouraged and eager, Blaise picked up the pace. With every thrust of his hips, Harry's fingers bit deeper into his shoulders, but Blaise didn't seem to mind, even when Harry felt blood.

He wanted to let go, to not hurt Blaise, but he couldn't. Blaise had pushed him tighter against the closet door, and his thrusts were quickening, shorter, faster, Merlin he was driving himself deep into Harry. Harry was making some animal sounds that could've sounded like real torture, except so much pleasure was spinning in him.

What Harry liked about "vertical one-oh-one" as Blaise had called it, was how close Blaise's body was to his. They were pressed up so close that he could feel the slickness of Blaise's sweat on his own skin. He could smell the scents of their sweat and maybe some cologne Blaise had put on, dizzying him. And Blaise's hair was in his eyes again, but he kept moving, and his hands had a rough hold on Harry's waist, and then he pulled Harry's legs to wrap around him and moved even faster. The closet door was making a horrible scraping sound behind Harry with every thrust, and he thought for a second of the woman who lived below him.

Then he was too far gone into heaven, shouting as Blaise's pace became furiously fast, and occasionally he would give one slow thrust so deep, so good. These thrusts made Harry positively on fire with pleasure, and he knew he was close to coming now. But he didn't want it to end.

He gasped as Blaise pulled away, and taking hold of Harry's wrist, he yanked him down onto the bed again. His naked body was plastered with sweat and his chest heaved against Harry. His eyes were electric, his glance alone sending sparks of goodness through Harry's system. His smiling mouth kissed Harry, and his smooth hands groped Harry's arse. He pulled Harry up, up, and he made up for the sudden empty feeling he'd left Harry with. His tongue struck in one long slide up Harry's neglected, pleading cock, and his fingers pried Harry's cheeks apart and thrust, wet and forceful, into Harry's hole.

The combination of stimulation from both sides was almost too much for Harry. He whimpered against his partner, unable to decide which direction he wanted to push towards. Blaise's mouth worked over Harry forcefully, hungrily, and he had his eyes shut in pleasure. At the same time his fingers were teasing Harry, pressing and rubbing, and the pressure was good.

Then, just as suddenly as he'd done everything else earlier, Blaise left Harry panting and lonely on the bed, and he said, "I promise I'm not going to hurt you. Let me just use one spell."

Anticipation and dread lurched in Harry when Blaise took up his wand. He knew in the back of his head that if this had all been a ruse, now was the moment he would be toast. But he trusted Blaise. Only his paranoid Auror side thought there was a chance he couldn't (constant vigilance!)…Mostly, he was breathless and aching and hard.

Blaise slid down over Harry again, and he licked over Harry's ear. Then he cast a spell, and moved down to lick hard and hungry over Harry's throbbing cock. What Harry noticed when Blaise pulled away from his ear was that the sensation of Blaise's tongue on him continued, even though Blaise was now thoroughly engrossed in deepthroating Harry's erection.

When Blaise left that second delicious treatment, he said the spell again, whispering it, and Harry cried out at the sensations rolling through him. Tongue was on his ear and on his cock, and Blaise's beautiful figure was above him. Naked and hard, he panted, but a devilish grin was on his face. He enjoyed the show of Harry moaning and wriggling at the spell-induced pleasures.

Then he eased Harry onto his belly, and for a few short moments Harry was in bliss, as at the same time, like a warped threesome, he had Blaise's hard cock in him, Blaise's tongue on his cock, and Blaise's tongue thrusting against an ear. It became so much that he was roaring in pleasure, muffled against the pillow, as Blaise rode him to completion. He came easily, the flood of pleasure undammed, and Blaise rode it out, before he came, too, deep inside Harry.

He slid in next to Harry, both of them barely fitting on the small cot, and watched as Harry lay on his back, panting. He cast _Finite Incantatum_ then, and Harry moaned. "If…" he coughed, and regained his voice a little, "If I weren't so tired, Blaise, I think you could keep me up with that all night, happily."

Blaise smirked. His hands were on Harry, rubbing his sweaty chest, brushing hair away from his neck. "Yes, I could keep you 'up,' that's for sure."

Harry laughed, and allowed Blaise to cast scourgify on them for now. He fell asleep tight up against Blaise, with his lover's hair on his pillow, breath in his ear, and strong arms wrapped around him.

The magical weekend was ended all too quickly. Its end came as a rapid tapping sound against Harry's window. In a dream, he was walking through a busy village, and the tapping of an old man's cane was loud in his ear, over and over.

Harry woke up with a jolt, and stared at the owl at his window. He had to get to work!

"Shit," he hissed, "Shit shit shit." He disentangled himself from Blaise, and opened the window so the owl could get in. His wards rippled to allow it. He breathed a sigh and took the letter from the owl's talons.

The handwriting was familiar.

_Harry,_

_It's lunch time and you haven't shown up. Auror Bennett said you haven't shown up all day. If you don't reply straightaway, I'm going to Apparate over, even though I'm in the midst of preparation and last-minute publicity madness for the upcoming Arrows versus Kestrels tournament. I invited Hermione and Ginny to come, but of course only Gin agreed. Want to come?_

_Worried about you,_

_Ron_

"Arrgh. Ron!"

"What has he done now?"

Harry turned away from the letter, still frowning, and looked at Blaise.

The Slytherin was gorgeous, especially _on Harry's bed_, lying half hidden amongst the sheets, his hair rumpled and his gaze amused. He wore a secretive smile on his face, one which seemed just for Harry. Plus, he knew how bothered Harry was by Ron and Hermione's trying to get him back with Ginny right now. (Ron insisted it was "a fluke," and Hermione that "If you work harder at it, Harry, it'll work out. I know you two are in love.")

Harry sighed. "Nothing. I'm late for work, and somehow Ron found out. Stupid, meddling…thank god he's busy publicizing for a Quidditch match right now, or he'd have shown up already."

Harry stalked over to his desk, scribbling a quick, short reply – _Traveled, slept in too late, I'm fine, see you later in the week_ – and sending it off. He yanked his closet open to get ready for work. He would usually be angry that his supervisor had let him slack and be late, but he was also relieved he had been able to spend more time with Blaise. God, he was sore! He winced as he bent over and retrieved his red robes from their spot on the closet floor.

"Weasley works in Quidditch? Is he manager for a team? Or does he write for a magazine?"

Harry snorted. "Ron, write for a magazine? Right. No, he's part of Q.U.A.B.B.L.E."

"Quidditch Union for the Administration and Betterment of the British League and its Endeavors? Good for him. Represent, as the American teenagers like to say."

"Which reminds me," Harry said muffled as he slid a clean shirt over his head, having changed his trousers (Blaise was watching), and then grabbed his red robes, "Is the game we're going to this week Arrows versus Kestrels? That's what Ron's working on right now."

His head popped out of the top of his robes, and he noticed Blaise looking him over.

"Red is a good color on you," Blaise said with a smirk.

Harry smirked back. "So is green. It makes my eyes stand out a lot."

He grabbed his wand, shoved some case files into a worn briefcase, and stood by the foot of the bed. He didn't know what to say to Blaise, but he felt giddy that he would see him again.

"Um…thank you for the night. Everything was delicious. And I look forward to the game. What day is it?"

Blaise sat up, and leaned up to give Harry a kiss on the mouth. "Wednesday. And it is Arrows versus Kestrels. Tell Weasley you're otherwise occupied if he invites you, because I insist on getting you all to myself."

Harry smiled. "Alright."

"One more question, Harry, out of curiosity. How is it you're an Auror already, so young?"

Harry reddened, and said, "I didn't cheat. Between you and me, I'll give a somewhat arrogant answer I wouldn't give the press: I got in by being very good. And I studied my arse off for almost the entirety of the year I turned eighteen. I'm still a little lackluster in the stealth department, though. And then there's potions."

Blaise shook his head. "I can give you private potions lessons on the side, if you like. Without Draco sneering at you and Snape breathing down your neck, you might be decent at it."

Harry laughed. "I doubt it. But thanks for the vote of confidence."

Hours later, and he felt he could use Blaise's vote of confidence again, as he tracked through a trail of blood left by a wizard on a murderous rampage. The scents of death had become familiar to Harry in his job, and so too was the heart-pounding rush of the chase. But this feeling of his stomach dropping as he realized he might fail, it was bitter in its familiarity. It wasn't often he failed in catching criminals, especially ones who began sneakily and tried to end things in a bang, as this one had.

Out of breath, with pain singing up his side, Harry kept running, and stopped suddenly around the corner from a row of houses in a rich wizarding neighborhood.

The rain that had started a half an hour ago had washed away most of the blood trail – the killer had practically bathed in his victims' insides – and lost Harry his Auror companions. He was alone. And some inner sense, the instinct that had saved him from Voldemort before, the breathless, simple knowing that had made him dive for the Snitch, told him he was close. The killer was hiding somewhere nearby.

If Harry presented himself, the killer would, too – the killer was tired of hiding, and he was tired of Auror nobodies chasing him, tracking him, but never finding him. He was tired of not having a name in the papers. He had killed Wizengamot members in his last two kills, and now, perhaps he hoped he would kill Harry Potter.

He was not the first to try and kill Harry. Harry wasn't so arrogant as to think himself invincible, but he trusted his own skills enough to know he was not easy to kill. He wouldn't be put on dangerous or puzzling cases did he not have skills, bravery, and a mind which suited the violent, active cases better than the desk-ridden ones.

Harry gulped in breaths of air as quietly as he could. He did not hold his painful side, but instead held out one arm for balance. He remained still until the dizziness and rush left. Slowly, tasting blood in his mouth from biting his lip, and inhaling the smells of jasmine and lilac and roses of nearby manors, he inched his wand around the corner, just the tip.

"_Incarcerous_."

Immediately his spell was blocked, and Harry flung up a shield spell as the killer spat a curse in his direction. The red light of the spell bounced off of his shield and back. Harry slipped around the corner, and when he saw where the light had returned to, he whispered an attack of his own.

The killer had used an illusion though, it seemed, for no one was there where Harry sent his spell. Suddenly long, spindling thick ropes surged up from the ground and wrapped around Harry – around his neck, choking him, around his waist, pulling him to the ground, around his ankles, but he did not let himself fall. His wand hand still free, he gasped out a hasty spell that froze his attacker's spell mid-way.

Bent over backwards, all Harry could see was a dark figure upside down leering at him from a window sill of one stately house. The man wore dark robes that were covered in blood, he had a wide smile, and even his hands had blood stains on them.

Harry's wand brushed his hip as he lifted it. He was about to do _Expelliarmus_ when the first slice came into his body. It was a deep gash at his waist, and left him gasping. He lifted his hand higher – why hadn't he been disarmed yet? – when another gash was severed into him, this time on his wand arm.

Harry stared down at the white of bone that had been revealed. When next he tried to cast a spell, the cutting attack that had been cast on him ripped a gash diagonally down his face. Harry swore. Blood trickled down into his right eye, forcing him to blink madly. The pain was worse than a deep knife cut; it stung, and had begun to sizzle. The cut by his hip felt like it was burning now.

His eyebrow had been seared in half, his cheek throbbed in pain, his nose might be broken, and he had a split in each lip. Blood dripped down his neck and into his robes. Harry took a deep breath. Part of him wondered what would happen to him next. This spell obviously had some connection with his mind or his movement, because it had known when he lifted his wand hand and when he was about to speak.

But he couldn't let that stop him. There were all those children this man had killed, Muggle, witch, and wizard. There were all their mourning families. And there were other families out there, still whole, that this man would rip apart if he were not apprehended.

With a bellow, Harry let loose a stream of spells that pummeled the man into the ground. He then petrified the man and rid him of his wand.

It didn't matter that his face was covered in gashes, or that his wand arm was swelling up like a balloon, or that the gash at his hip was like burning fire that was starting to sweep into the rest of Harry's body. He had caught another killer, and the man's crimes were most likely to bring him to death after trial. Harry did not mind the thought of this man's death, having had the bloody, sad faces of the killer's victims in his head every night for the past month.

Before he collapsed, he sent a stream of red sparks high up into the sky as a signal of his location.

"Harry? Harry, what happened?"

"C'mon, mate."

Harry woke up blearily to the sound of his friends' voices. He was in the all too familiar Healing Wing of the Auror department in the Ministry. Dull candle light shone around him. That shelf of books on Defense Against the Dark Arts theories which he had never read was even more raggedy now. He hated this room, and he didn't like the anxious sound of Hermione's voice.

"The blood isn't mine," he said automatically. It was a well-versed phrase of his.

"Actually, Auror Potter, it was yours, but fortunately we've got you all healed up now. You might feel tired. You lost a lot of blood before the other Aurors came. I suggest you let your friends take you home. I recommend Flooing over Apparition, for at least a couple days. Expect some extra dizziness."

The Healer was a short, squat man with a bristling mustache that reminded Harry of Uncle Vernon.

Harry sat up. His Auror robes, grimy and filthy, lay at the foot of the bed. He wore a pair of light blue patient robes. His friends shared a chair somehow beside the bed, Hermione's gaze anxious, Ron looking tired. Harry pressed his hand to his waist, where the cut had been. No pain. He looked over his arm, and then winced at the sudden pain there.

"The bone will take some time to heal. Your supervisor has told me you can have time off work if you wish, though I'm sure the bone will be better by the morning. And your friend Weasley here has just told me he's bringing you to a Quidditch game on Wednesday. That will help keep your spirits up."

Harry sighed, and accepted the glass of water the Healer gave him. He gulped it down obediently. "Thank you, healer."

The man nodded and proceeded to the next bed over. Harry was relieved he hadn't stumbled over his words or asked Harry for an autograph. Perhaps he was one of the ones who had treated Harry in the Healing Wing before; Harry couldn't remember.

"Not sure on that Quidditch game, Ron." He smiled tiredly at his old friend. He hoped that was convincing enough to let him off the hook, so he could go to the game with Blaise.

Ron nodded. "It's alright, mate. Let's bring you home so you can have your arm better by tomorrow and get some extra rest."

Harry nodded, and let his friends help him out of bed, for he _was_ exhausted. But as he let them hug him and he didn't say anything to wipe that worried look from Hermione's face, he felt anger rising in him. Blaise was right. He had to take control of his life instead of letting his friends control it.

"Look, I do want to go to the Quidditch game on Wednesday," he said, as he lead his friends to the nearest Floo fireplace, "but not with Ginny around. I'll go by myself. I'll have a blast. I do want to see the game, and all the hard work you've put into it, Ron."

Ron frowned at Harry over Hermione's head. "Alone? It won't be the same that way. Who will you have to talk to about the techniques the flyers use? Who can tell you about the teams? Who can cheer and groan with you over moves? Come on. Don't be ridiculous. At least Gin can enjoy a Quidditch game."

Harry thought how, funnily, Blaise was the answer to all of Ron's question. And Blaise could answer more questions about the teams than Ron could, probably.

Hermione huffed at this, but Ron ignored her. His gaze needled Harry in a desperate sort of fashion as Harry turned to the Floo.

"If she's there, _I_ won't enjoy the game," Harry grumbled. "Just drop it."

"Will you at least come to dinner with me and Ron after?" Hermione smiled at Harry, and pulled a little on his good arm.

A pang of guilt slid into Harry, but he thought, wasn't that just another way they controlled him? By guilt? He had to do things for himself, too.

"Maybe," he said, and pulled his arm away. Then he jumped into the Floo. He thought to himself he'd much rather have another dinner with Blaise. Dinners with Ron and Hermione lately seemed to always come back to Ginny by the end. Argh! He waved to them from the Floo, smiling, to let them know he was okay, but inwardly anger was churning in him. But he was too tired to let it out properly. Perhaps it would explode on him later…

He plopped his Auror robes in the laundry room, and then sunk into a warm bath. His arm was propped up, and there, exhausted, he fell asleep.

He woke up in the midst of a nightmare that had something to do with faces being turned inside out. His arm was crackling and hurting as the bone re-grew, and Harry cursed at the pain that had become so severe it had woken him. He was usually better at handling pain now than he had been during Hogwarts, but he was extra tired. It had felt so good to sleep.

He shuffled out of his bathroom, and rolled onto his bed naked. On his belly, buried in his pillow that still smelled like Blaise, Harry slept deeply.

A series of tapping noises had not been able to force Harry out of bed. He knew he had Owls, or something important, but he was just too tired to deal with it. Even though the Healers had worked on him, he _had_ lost a lot of blood, and had not slept well recently (until Blaise). Part of him was angry with his own body for being so tired – he had to WORK, he had to, because no one else could save the lonely, sad, dead faces in his case files from happening again and again.

But his body would not get up.

Not until a voice entered into his consciousness late the next morning.

"Harry? Did you know you're all over the news?"

Harry turned over and pulled the sheets up. "What did I do now?" He was not in the mood!

Ron cleared his throat. "Well, apparently you've been hanging out with an ex-Death Eater. And working on some dark spells with him here in your flat. And you just might be shagging him, too. Of course, this is all according to the tabloids. The more sensible papers still wonder what you're up to, though."

Harry shot up. "What?"

He grabbed the newspaper and pumpkin juice that Ron handed him, and while gulping down the drink he looked over the newspaper. The pictures of himself made him extra angry; they always took them and put them in out-of-context articles. In this one, his smiling face blared from the covers, and the name Blaise Zabini shot from the paper into his mind and out of his mouth as a question: "Blaise Zabini?"

Ron laughed. "Yeah. That sod from Slytherin, same year as us, remember?"

Harry nodded, and scanned the article. It was all nonsense, of course – except that he and Blaise _were_ shagging, _were_ "friends (or more!)", and Blaise had visited his flat.

But only one person had witnessed that.

Harry groaned. "They planted a spy on me? This is too much like Skeeter. Come on!"

He yanked on some clothes and dragged Ron down to the apartment below his. It had taken the papers a month to find him and harass him again. One month of peace, and now the woman living below him turned out to be a magical person living amongst Muggles, and a reporter. It was no coincidence, Harry was sure. She had been planted here to report on his activity.

"This is illegal. Plus, I'm an Auror. She shouldn't have been able to come in this close to me without myself or someone from the Ministry finding out."

And like an Auror, Harry used magic to sneak them into her apartment, only to find it empty. She wasn't home. He scanned her desk, and found material on himself, as well as other unpleasantness on people who probably had been similarly speculated about by this "reporter."

"I wonder how he'll react," Harry said under his breath, as he looked through the rough draft of the article written in a notebook. Would Baise be angry? Perhaps he would find it amusing. He'd probably be bothered that Harry and he now wouldn't get much privacy during the Quidditch game tomorrow, if they should even still go at all.

Harry gathered the reporter's materials and handed them to Ron.

"Here. Comb through these notebooks, will you? We'll return them later. I want to know if there's anything else she's found out."

"Found out?" Ron laughed. "But it's all made up, anyway!"

Harry shook his head and rushed back up to his flat. He made breakfast hastily, sloppily, and ate it quickly. When he was done, he nodded to the cupboards, the floor, and the table. "Do you see this? It's all clean. Do you think I did this myself? You know how horrid I am at cleaning spells."

His heart was pounding in nervousness, but he decided he had to tell Ron. To get it out in the open. After all, it seemed pretty clear that Blaise and he wanted more to do with each other. It wasn't quite what could be called dating, perhaps, but something close to it. Of course, Harry knew he still had a lot to get to know about Blaise, but it was a beginning.

And he did not want to lie and squirm. Nor did he want to wait or drop clues. He had spent time with Blaise, and he knew he'd be spending more time with Blaise. Ron and Hermione had found out, even if the papers had speculated and lied. Why hold it back any longer?

Plus, he was so sick of hearing about Ginny!

Ron tilted his head to one side. "Who helped you clean it?"

Harry tapped the small moving, smiling picture of Blaise in the paper. "Him."

"But…I thought…they were lying…I mean, isn't he a Death Eater? Ex-Death Eater?"

"No. I did a check on him," Harry lied, "He's clear."

He did want to do a check on him. He had to, didn't he? As part of his job, of course. And he just would have to keep it secret from Blaise, because Blaise wouldn't like it…argh. That wouldn't work. He'd have to talk to Blaise, because it was the only issue between them that had shown up so far – Blaise's mother, her Dark Arts, and Blaise's past which was most likely not shadowy at all. Harry hoped.

Ron's face went ashen. Evidently some of Hermione had rubbed off on him, for he seemed to catch on awfully fast, for Ron.

"What else in that article is true?" He whispered.

Harry laughed. He sent their dishes to clean themselves, and leaning forward onto his hands, he stood up. "All of it," he said, "Except for the part about the Dark Arts, of course."

Ron's face had gone even more ashen, if that were possible. He stood in the kitchen, while Harry cleaned off his Auror robes with whipping motions of his wand.

"Harry? Have you gone nutter? He's a _bloke_. He's a _Slytherin._ His mother _kills people_."

"I know he's a bloke." Harry smiled with his new-found freedom. He was feeling as free now, in speaking honestly, as he did when he spent time with Blaise. Perhaps he could get a taste of the freedom and honesty and calm that Blaise and his life seemed full of. He just had to grab it for himself.

"I have personal evidence that he's a bloke," Harry said, watching Ron's grey face turn red, "And I don't care that he was in Slytherin House years ago. Nor that he attended Malfoy's wedding on Saturday. And his mother…well, we've talked about her, a bit."

Ron's face was white now. "How…how long has this been going on?" He sounded like he just might faint.

Harry shimmied into his red robes and smiled sympathetically at Ron. "Not very long. But long enough that I know I like him and I'd like more of him in my life. Tell Hermione, will you? I've got to go take care of this tabloid nonsense now. See you later."

"Wait!"

Ron grabbed Harry's sleeve.

"What?"

"Um…" Ron shifted from foot to foot, and then grabbed Harry's sleeve tighter. He looked straight at Harry and sighed. "What about Ginny?"

Not her again! "I'm tired of Ginny," Harry grumbled, "Alright? We didn't get along. We want different things. I'm sorry I hurt her, and everyone else, and especially you, but…you've just go to let it go."

"But, Harry, please -"

Ron was going to start pleading, and Harry wasn't going to stand for that. It would make guilt pinch harder, but it would not change his decision.

"Let it GO, Ron!"

Harry yanked his sleeve from Ron's grip.

He Apparated straight into the Ministry, where he spoke briefly to his supervisor. Then it was a quick trip to visit a few friends who could help him out, and then it was to the offices of the main newspapers. Harry wasn't one to hide behind walls and wait for some influential friends to work it all out for him. He liked to take care of things on his own.

He ignored the way that Apparation made him a little dizzy after every arrival, and the way he started getting sweaty. He had to catch this newspaper virus before it spread all over. And he wanted to go to the Quidditch game with Blaise, no matter what.


	8. Chapter 8

_Merry Christmas, all! I am an awful updater! Please accept my apologies...=( This is the last chapter! =D sorry for cheesy ending lines, haha..._

**HARRY POTTER, VIRGIN EXTRAORDINAIRE**

**by The Ultimate Otaku**

_Chapter 8_

It felt really good to feel the cool air in the waiting room by the office of Mrs. Ellen Rudger, the head of the newspaper that had reported on him. It didn't feel good having everyone stare at him, half of them from behind newspapers that had his face on it. What made up for that was her expression – her feathered hat askew, her lipstick a straight line - when he walked into her office, and saw the reporter who had "dished" on him there. Both of their faces went red, and the reporter practically ran from the room. Harry sat down across from Mrs. Rudger after sharing a firm handshake.

Rudger recovered quickly. "Mr. Potter. How very pleasant to see you on this fine day. Would you like some tea?"

Harry made sure to smile brightly. "No, thank you."

"Coffee? Pumpkin juice? Orange juice? Milk? Something stronger?"

She smirked on the last one, and Harry did not take that bait – that test to see if he was upset over his "secrets being spilled" – and instead he smiled back.

"No, thank you," he declined with a dip of his head. "I would like to get straight to the point. I wanted to congratulate your employee – Ms. Norton, is it? – on her excellent journalism. She slid in right under my nose, and the nose of the Ministry, in fact. They leave us Aurors to protect ourselves, of course, but they do take an interest if any of us feel seriously threatened or has a sudden suspicious presence move in nearby."

There was a noticeable tick beneath Rudger's left eye now. Harry continued, "Ms. Norton was so very expert in her gathering of information that I did not even notice her. And that's saying something, Mrs. Rudger, because I've been trained to observe when things are amiss, even in my own home, and I have devices that can sense any intruders or presences nearby. And they sensed nothing."

Rudger's smile was looking awfully stretched across the face. Harry was reminded a little of Umbridge. "Mr. Potter, while I thank you for your praise, it almost sounds as if you are implying that my employee was lying, rather than reporting."

Harry grinned now. His mouth was going to ache from this fake put-on later, but it was worth it. He actually quite enjoyed handling problems like this sometimes, especially when he felt energetic and excited – and he was quite excited about the Quidditch game tomorrow, and seeing Blaise again. Plus, this was letting out some of the steam of his anger with Ron and Hermione.

"Why Mrs. Rudger, you are quite astute. I am implying that. If she had done any reporting, I would know; but Ms. Norton did not ask me for any interview. Notice that not a single actual quote from my lips is in her article. I am going to give a personal interview with another newspaper – multiple newspapers, if need be - calling into question Ms. Norton's reporting skills, her job, your paper, and indeed the quality of work you yourself do. For instance, what must your hiring system be, given that you happily hired a woman who would rather concoct a story than go out and find a real one herself?"

Rudger's face was pale now, but she said firmly, with a smile, "Mr. Potter, I did not known you were so vicious when threatened. How do you even know that I approve of the article Ms. Norton wrote on you?"

Harry laughed. "You wouldn't have let it run in your paper if you hadn't."

Rudger's voice was snappish now. "Do you really think that people will listen to what you have to say, when what Mrs. Norton reported was such a good story, and they are already eating it up?"

Harry nodded, spreading his hands across her desk and leaning forward. "Thank you for admitting that your motivation was just to get a good story that the public would 'eat up.' And yes, I think they'll be eager to hear from me. They were eager enough to 'eat up' the 'news' about me, weren't they? Something from my own mouth will be even more exciting."

Rudger leaned back in her chair. Her fingertips tapped the surface of her desk in a nervous fashion. "Mr. Potter, what are you planning to say? How will you defend your case?"

"Oh, that's another thing. Thanks for the reminder. If you don't get convinced to shut down your operation to sabotage my life by making false reports about me, I will bring you to court, and I assure you I will win. That's after I file a report with the Ministry about Ms. Norton's illegal spying. Or I can use other, more magical methods, of course."

He let that imply whatever she wanted it to mean. It was enough. Harry didn't have to mention friends in law or Hermione Granger or his clout with the Ministry or anything at all. The conviction he had within him came out in his voice. Clearly this final threat worked, for Mrs. Rudger clutched her throat in a protective gesture, as if Harry's words were a knife in hand.

"Mr. Potter…How can I help you?"

Everything went up hill from there, except that there was one issue: Harry realized that, it wasn't the report about him shagging Blaise that had bothered him. That part was true. And if the world knew it, maybe they would stop writing articles about when he would marry Ginevra Weasley. What bothered him was that they had said he was working on Dark Arts, and with Blaise.

Harry had to get down to bottom of it: Why was Blaise not a Dark Arts user, and why was it not widely known? Couldn't he work to clear his name a little from the dark cloud his mother had drawn over it?

The rest of the day was spent on interviews, which came out immediately, where he discussed false journalism, his life at his new flat alone, and where he avoided the question of whether he was with someone, and said that no, he was not planning on getting back together with Ginny.

When he returned home at the end of a very long day, which had been half filled with paperwork, he was ready for another bath. A pounding headache pulsed between his eyebrows.

But when he arrived at his front door, someone was there.

He was a tall blonde man wearing all black, with grey eyes that needled Harry from the stairway landing and followed him to where he crossed his arms in front of the intruder. His gaze combed over Harry, unpleasant, scrutinizing, and when he smirked, Harry had no more doubts about who this was. It had been years since he had seen him, but there was no mistaking that smirk, since he had had to endure it for all of his six years at Hogwarts.

"Malfoy. Why, I'm charmed you would come all the way here from your honeymoon just for me. What is it?"

Malfoy stood up straighter, and said in an acerbic tone, "I didn't return for you, Potter. I returned for business matters. And this."

He waved the all-too-familiar newspaper article about Harry and Blaise in front of Harry's face. "Tell me, what is this?"

Harry forced himself to smile. "Why don't you ask him? He's your friend."

Malfoy dropped the article and dug the toe of his boot into it viciously. "He won't be very much longer, if this is true. I never thought he could have such bad taste." He wrinkled his nose.

Harry laughed. "Don't you know him better than that? He's not a practitioner of the Dark Arts."

The Auror part of him whispered, _As far as I know. Maybe if I talk to Malfoy, I'll find out if he is or not._

Malfoy crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back to settle himself more comfortably against Harry's front door. "So you're saying that none of what they wrote about you two is true?"

Harry was getting tired of Malfoy's interrogation. His headache was hurting him even more. He was used to being on the other end of these, not the one being pummeled with questions. "Look, Malfoy. I know it bothers you that he might like me, but if it's true, is it all that bad? We'll only have to tolerate each other occasionally."

Wow. Where had that come from? He'd hoped to say something a little more pinching to retaliate against Malfoy.

Another voice, from the stairwell, echoed up to them. "You know he's right, Draco, so shut your trap and stop nosing into my business."

A familiar head of curly hair appeared at the top of the stairway, and Blaise reached Harry in seconds. He wrapped an arm firmly around Harry's waist.

Harry flushed. He was shocked at how far Blaise seemed willing to commit to him. It felt good to have Blaise's arm around his waist, possessive. It made his anger cool down a little. He smirked at Malfoy.

Malfoy's face turned a brilliant shade of pink, and he rubbed at the pocket of his trousers as if he might grab his wand. Harry took his out, just in case.

Immediately Malfoy stopped the motion – coward as ever – and simply frowned at them. He turned to Blaise, and his voice became a whine as he said, "Is this really true?"

Blaise simply nodded. Malfoy huffed at that, and then drawled, "Blaise, since when have you had such terrible taste?"

Blaise smirked. "Remember when you took Pansy out to the Yule Ball in Fourth Year? I think I remember saying something similar then."

Malfoy's ears reddened. "That was then! You're supposed to be intelligent, not fall for the Boy Who Lived in his stupid, gawky glasses. He's still obnoxious, too."

Harry began to smile at Malfoy's obviously deflated attempts to deter Blaise. His arguments were getting more and more stupid. Blaise smiled, too. "I think you're the one being obnoxious. I found Astoria much too snobbish, remember? But I didn't tell you not to marry her. So don't tell me what to do. And I know you; you wouldn't really break off our friendship because of Harry."

How long had Blaise been listening? Had he heard the whole conversation? Perhaps he'd followed Malfoy. Harry wondered why he hadn't come in sooner. Maybe he had been wondering how much Harry was going to commit, too?

Malfoy was coming close to livid. His voice rose and he threw up his hands, saying, "I see there's no arguing with you, Blaise. Forget my good counsel. Don't listen. Have a fun time at your stupid Quidditch game. I hope the reporters eat you alive!"

He gave a quick look around, pulled himself from Harry's door, and disappeared with a pop.

Blaise turned to Harry and gave him a beautiful smile. His hand ruffled through the hair at the back of Harry's neck. "He's all heat and no fire. How are you? You look exhausted."

And just like that, the exhaustion flooded back into Harry. He smiled a little, and said, "Yes, I've been contesting against people all day. I'm ready to go to sleep for a long time…but I need a bath first."

Blaise laughed. "Of course you do. Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Blaise immediately went into the kitchen, where he made Harry something to eat regardless of Harry's polite protests, and when Harry scarfed it down, Blaise laughed, saying, "See? I told you so."

He followed Harry to the bathroom, and sat on the countertop as Harry sat on the rim waiting for the water.

Harry looked down at the floor, wondering how he was going to ask Blaise several important questions. Was Blaise a practitioner of the Dark Arts, secretly? Could Harry really, really trust him? How would Blaise's mother take to Blaise being with Harry? How would the media take it if Harry was together with him and they thought Blaise an Ex-Death Eater or some such? And how to ask all of this without sounding terribly rude and making Blaise furious?

He decided to just plow in. "So, you aren't mad about the news article?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "That thing? No. I know it wasn't your fault, why should I be mad at you? I am mad at that woman for concocting tales and invading our privacy. But you seem to have taken care of it pretty well. I'm already seeing some counter-attack type interviews with you coming out."

Harry blurted the next question that was anxiously burning in him then. "If you're so private, and my life is constantly being exposed to the public, how can we be together? Do you want to be together?"

Blaise's eyes were dark and somber. "Tell me what you mean when you say 'together.' Do you mean, in love, because I wouldn't say we are. If you mean doing things together, well we're already doing that, and if you mean sex, we've done that. But by lobbing 'together' in, I think you mean something more. What is that 'more'? What do you want?"

Harry pursed his lips together. He hadn't expected Blaise to answer his question like this (and it wasn't really an answer, answering a question with questions). It was more challenging and to the point than he'd expected. He wasn't sure what he had expected, though. He decided he appreciated Blaise's straightforwardness. But could he be as straightforward with himself?

Yes. He knew what he wanted. He wanted that tender side of Blaise to be his and his alone. He knew he drew it out, and that was what Blaise had basically admitted to him. Harry brought out a side in Blaise that Blaise wasn't familiar with nurturing – the sweet side, that gave just to give, that enjoyed time with Harry without needing anything in return. Blaise enjoyed making Harry moan and curse, not because of his pride, but because he just liked Harry. He enjoyed making sure Harry had fun, like bringing him to dinner, and bringing him flying. And he obviously wanted more time with Harry, because he'd hinted at bringing Harry to future Quidditch games.

Plus, the level of satisfaction Harry had gotten in the last few days was more than he'd had in a long time. He wanted that in his life, for however long it could last.

Harry cleared his throat. "By 'more' I mean…you. I want you around me. I want us to be together, as in, like a couple. 'Dating,' or whatever you'd like to call it. We go out. We stay in. Together. And we don't have to live together, either – we can keep our separate apartments. But…I want to spend more time with you, more than just, when we're free, or bored, or when we just went clubbing and got tipsy. But…you didn't answer my question. What do _you_ want?"

Blaise stood up from the counter, and paused. For a moment Harry thought he might leave. Perhaps this was too much for Blaise. Maybe he didn't want to commit after all. Maybe the fact that being with Harry would automatically deprive him of some privacy was too much of a hassle.

Harry looked down into the bath water, and waited for that pop of Apparation signaling Blaise had left.

But then a soft hand slid across his cheek.

"I want the same thing," Blaise whispered, "You, just you…Harry…"

His soft mouth inched down from Harry's forehead, over Harry's eyelids, and finally down to his lips. His arms had gone around Harry now, and he looked at Harry deeply, drinking him in. Then he shut his eyes, and as they kissed, his arms tugged Harry closer in, up. His hands slid the red robes up and over Harry's head, and then they were weaving shapes up and down Harry's back, light and soothing on his skin.

Harry felt like he might have a heart attack, because his heart was going so quickly in excitement. It seemed like it would burst in happiness. He wanted to laugh, and he wanted to have Blaise hold him like this forever. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what to say. He wanted to tell Blaise about his argument with Ron, and he wanted to kiss Blaise everywhere, and he wanted to sleep in Blaise's arms again.

He found himself undressing Blaise, too, automatically, like a spell, and when they were both naked before each other, they just stood back and looked at each other a moment.

"They can have Potter, month after month, week after week, day after day…Auror Potter, Boy Who Lived, whomever…and your friends, of course, there's them…but the rest is mine, Harry. Promise?"

Harry swallowed, and nodded his head. "Promise. You can have me to yourself…Harry, without the Potter and the rest."

Blaise watched as Harry slid into the bath, and he cast a spell to enlarge the tub before he slid in, too. "I'm not saying forget about your parents, Lily and James. Merlin knows I can't ever seem to forget about mine. But there are parts of you that you don't even show to your friends…things you wouldn't say to them…how did they react to that article?"

Harry sighed. "I'll tell you later. It involved me getting angrier than Ron, which was surprising…"

"You mean you told them it was true?" The surprise in Blaise's voice forced Harry's eyes open.

Harry nodded. "Well, yeah. Not the Dark Arts part, of course."

Blaise smiled. "That part was the most entertaining of the whole article, I thought. I admit to trying my hand at certain spells at Hogwarts, but I never hurt anybody. And that demonstration in Fourth Year rattled me just as much as anyone else…especially Crucio…"

His voice got suddenly quiet. "I was lucky to be in the back, whereas Longbottom's reaction was witnessed because he was in the front row."

Harry licked his dry lips. "…How did you react?"

"Mine was worse than Longbottom's," Blaise said hoarsely. "Because I'd seen it happen to my dad…and other people. Not just by my mum, either. I was a visitor to the Malfoy household, before they hosted Voldemort at Malfoy Manor. I saw things I would not recount to anyone."

He swallowed hard, and then smiled, recovering quickly. "But the only Dark Arts I really know are things like this…"

Wandless, smiling, he moved in towards Harry, and kissed Harry hard. His tongue squirmed in past Harry's lips, and thrust in warm and good. His hand crept down over Harry's wet belly, and down to grip his cock. He jerked his thumb over the head and teased the slit, and then, panting over Harry's neck, he drew closer. With two hands, he took both of their hardening cocks in his hands, and began to rub them together.

Harry let his head fall back, moaning Blaise's name. He grunted as Blaise's hands began to move even quicker, and his wet, licking kisses moved up and down Harry's neck. He was whispering Harry's name in a desperate, hungry way, and his cock felt so hard and good against Harry's…he took Harry's hand, and forced it down to rub with him, and so Harry did, gripping Blaise's cock hard, tugging it, pressing it against his own.

Blaise rubbed the heads together, groaning loudly, and as Harry came, he came too. Blaise cleaned the water with a spell, and then lay back against the opposite wall, looking at Harry.

"God," Harry panted, "You're endlessly full of ideas."

Blaise chuckled. "See? A Dark Arts form of its own. Able to weaken the opponent in mere moments."

He let Harry just lie there then, and then Harry began to scrub himself in earnest. It felt so good to get the grime of blood and dirt from around his fingernails, and to see his feet clean, and to feel the hard scrub of cloth all over his body. And when Harry was done with that, he put more bubbles in the bath, and just lay back with a sigh.

When he woke up some time later, he found his chin was almost in the water.

"Let's get you out of there, Harry, before you turn into a raisin. I can see it now – 'Boy Who Lived turns into raisin!'"

They laughed, and Harry got up to leave the tub – and suddenly the whole room swayed. Harry gasped, and almost fell, but Blaise caught his arm. Harry looked at his arm – it was the same he'd had the bones broken in, but now it had recovered. What was wrong? Maybe he was just tired?

Then he remembered how the Healer had told him to Floo rather than Apparate. For a couple days.

"Harry?"

Harry groaned. "I…I overdid it again…I wasn't supposed to Apparate for a while and I've been doing it all day – lucky I didn't splinch myself -"

And then he did fall over.

He woke up on his bed hours later. He was wrapped in a bathrobe and his head was pounding. He looked over to see Blaise sitting at his desk, feet up, nose in one of those dull Defense Against the Dark Arts books that Harry had never read but been gifted.

"Sorry about that," Harry said.

Blaise looked up. He smiled, and put the book down. "Don't be sorry. Just be more careful. Does this happen a lot?"

Harry nodded and lay back. "Yeah. Well, not the no-Apparation thing, but overdoing it, yeah. Ron and Hermione used to help me more, but they got busy with work, and Ginny got tired of it. She wanted me to quit. But I can't."

He waited for something well-meaning about how he could, he must, like he'd heard so many times. But instead Blaise said simply, "I wish I enjoyed my jobs that much. How do you feel?"

"Headache," was all Harry could say as it came thrusting back into him. Blaise disappeared and Harry heard him tinkering in the kitchen, and then he returned with a steaming potion.

"Drink up."

Harry obeyed, grimacing at the sharp flavor, and lay back again. He shut his eyes.

"Are we going tomorrow?" He whispered sleepily a minute or so later.

Blaise looked up from the book. "What? I only heard a mumble."

Harry flushed. "The Quidditch game. Are we going?"

Blaise put the book down and walked to the foot of the bed, where he crawled up to lay by Harry and pulled him in close. "We are going," he whispered, "Because I can't resist the sparkle that's in your eyes right now. It demands that we go. We can get there by Floo somehow."

Harry frowned. Floo. Ugh. He'd have to ask Ron for a private fireplace near the stadium that he could get to. He couldn't just barge in on any fireplace, after all. And Blaise would be with him. So Ron would see them together, there and then. Well, good! He'd have to get used to the sight. And Ginny could drink it in all she wanted.

It would be harder to avoid people if he went by Floo…

"You won't mind…paparazzi and stuff?"

"I'm guessing 'and stuff' means your friends. Don't worry, we can handle them all. This will be good practice for me."

After sending the Floo request to Ron, Harry slept, and slept, and when he woke, he felt startlingly refreshed. He hadn't realized how much he had run himself down.

Harry joined Blaise in the kitchen for breakfast. He was happy to read Ron's short agreement to open a Floo by the stadium so Harry could get through. They ate silently – Harry was very hungry – and then while getting up he said quietly, "So Blaise. Um. Where's your mum these days?"

Blaise turned around from where he'd been looking at Harry's newspaper clippings on the refrigerator and raised both brows. "Harry James Potter, you have zero subtlety, you know that?"

"I'm sorry -"

"No, it's alright." Blaise grinned. "You're lucky I don't take offense easily. Don't worry about her. She only cares about herself. She won't come barging in yelling about her son's welfare and aiming to kill you."

Harry laughed in relief. "Good." Then he paused. "Blaise…you're her only son. Shouldn't she…?"

"Care?" Blaise sighed. "She doesn't work like that. I was an accident, really."

Harry looked at Blaise to make sure he was okay, though Blaise had shown signs of being able to shrug things off easily. Blaise had that tender smile Harry loved on his face, and he reached a hand out to ruffle Harry's hair and adjust his glasses.

"I think you're the only one who cares enough to ask that sort of thing. Thank you. I'm fine."

And he was. He laughed with Harry down the block it took to the nearest Floo, and ignored the stares they got from the witch's flower shop employees. He held Harry close to him as they spun through the Floo, and when the spinning had stopped, Harry felt like he might be sick.

"Can you wait a moment," he coughed.

They were crouched in a fireplace, Blaise bent over nearly in half, but Blaise waited. He looked at Harry with his alert, tender gaze. His gaze had concern and confidence in it. Harry knew he was bad at taking care of himself, but he knew in that moment, staring at Blaise, that this man would take care of him, when he needed it, and also let him be as free as a bird.

Harry smiled, and took Blaise's hand. He pulled them out of the fireplace and shook soot from his head and shoulders.

Snaps of spells taking pictures met his ears first. Then the crowd rushed on them. Quick Quills scribbled across pages, and both Harry and Blaise were pelted with questions –

"Mr. Potter, is it true that you've done a background check on Mr. Zabini to see if he has any Dark Arts backgrounds?"

"Mr. Potter, did you know that the Zabini family has a history of Dark Arts use?"

"Mr. Potter, how does it feel to be dating someone from your rival Slytherin House?"

"How long have you been in this secret affair, Mr. Potter? How does Ginny feel being cheated on?"

"Mr. Zabini, tell us what your plans are for your future with Mr. Potter."

"Are you going to give up your name and wealth and take up the Potter name, Mr. Zabini?"

"How does your mother feel about this?"

"How do your friends feel about this?"

"When is the wedding?"

"Do you want children?"

And then –

"Hey, mate."

Ron stood in front of them. His hair was tousled, and he had dark circles under his eyes. For a moment, Harry felt sorry for him – for how stressed Ron looked at the revelation that his best friend liked blokes – but mostly he felt a twinge of "serves him right", because of how Ron refused to believe that a Slytherin could be decent.

What was worse, was Ginny. She stood next to Ron with her arms across her chest and a sour expression on her face. She flashed glares at Blaise, which only made the man smile. He was doing better at handling her than he was at handling the press – Harry noticed a little twitch under his eye whenever the cameras flashed, and he had moved closer to Harry as soon as the reporters were cramming them in.

Right now though, with only one challenge in front of him and the reporters held at bay by a privacy spell Harry had cast, he seemed alright. Harry decided he would be, too.

Harry smiled on purpose – how annoying, to have to give a friend that treatment – and gave Ron a friendly slap on the shoulder.

"Thanks for opening the Floo, Ron. Have a fun game."

He left then, and Blaise followed him. They ignored the swarming reporters, pushing past. Blaise leaned in to whisper, "Good call. I think you did the right thing in not trying to chum it up. Plus, I was readying a spell to blast the girl so she couldn't throw a Bat Bogeys Hex. Bitchy, isn't she?"

Harry smiled. "Tell me about it."

Then the reporters swarmed them again, and in their midst Harry heard -

"Harry! Harry, over here!"

Harry answered a couple sensible questions, and allowed one or two pictures, smiling, but then he was reaching out for a familiar arm and found himself accosted by a head of bushy hair which made his chin itch.

"Harry! You made it!"

Harry stared at Hermione. "I thought you hated Quidditch?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose, and kept pulling them with her through the crowd. "I don't hate it, I just don't care for it. But I wanted to see you. To talk to you. Please, Harry?"

They sequestered themselves in an empty corner, and Harry crossed his arms and frowned at his friend. "What about?"

Hermione looked at Harry, then at Blaise, and then her gaze flashed quickly back to Harry. "Well, Harry. Ron told me. He's really upset about it. He's angry and confused and he's sure you've gone completely mad. He even suggested that maybe that Dark Arts user hit you with the Confundus Charm!"

She laughed. Harry smiled. He looked over at Blaise, whose expression showed he was on the verge of laughing, too.

"We'll get through to him some day," Harry laughed, "Give him time. Right?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Well. I was wondering if you two wanted to take me up on that dinner offer. Ron could come too. We could all talk about it."

Harry frowned. "How about let's wait? I think Ron would just yell at me, at this point. And Ginny's with him today."

Hermione nodded. "I've got to run, but please tell me you'll come, Harry. That little place near your home. The Green something or other. It can be just the four of us. No Ginny."

She looked at Blaise, seeing Harry was not going for it, and Blaise said, "What's to talk about? If you're fine with us, then…no need, really. And if Weasley's not fine, which he clearly isn't…even less need."

Hermione's mouth twitched. "I see. Well. Okay, then. I'll just let you guys have fun. Maybe another time. How about next week? Is that enough time? It's just hard to be around Ron when he's…"

Blaise's voice was cool now. "How about thinking about Harry, instead of yourself? He's got paparazzi and papers to deal with. And he's still woozy from whatever spell got him at work the other day. Instead of pressuring him so you can have everything and everyone in neat little boxes, why not just be kind?"

Hermione's face turned bright red, and she opened her mouth, and then closed it. She looked about to spit something mean and grab her wand, but then her face crumpled. "Y-You're right. I'm just – I'm just adding more on Harry -"

She turned towards Harry, who let her hug him tightly enough that his ribs hurt. He brushed his hands down her head, and whispered, "It's okay. We'll be fine, all of us. Just keep Ginny out of it, please, and let Ron steam alone. Visit if it gets too annoying."

She nodded, and then emerged from Harry's shoulder and smiled brightly at Blaise. "I think I might like you, you know."

Blaise winked and smiled. They squished out of the corner so Hermione could leave, and when she was gone, Harry let out a deep breath.

"Alright?"

Harry breathed in again, and then out. Sheesh. Friends could be a pain. But they were also a blessing. He knew he wouldn't be where he was and who he was right now, without Ron and Hermione. He hoped Ron's anger would blow over sooner rather than later. And he hoped Hermione didn't spend time crying over what Blaise had said. His honesty could be a little harsh if you weren't prepared for it. Harry personally enjoyed it a lot.

"Let's go."

They made their way through madness to the private box near the top of the stadium. They cast their _Muffliato_ and other privacy spells, and Harry finally sank back into his seat, relaxed, as the game began.

And what a game! From the very start it was crackling with tension. Harry found himself alternately cheering and booing. Blaise was excited, too, standing up to watch more closely through his Omnioculars as the Kestrels Seeker dove towards the ground, jumping up to yell, "YES!" when they made a goal.

Mid-way through the game, Harry turned to Blaise. "Do you mind if I do something that will get us splattered all over the papers even more? I feel so good right now, I could do anything and tolerate any hassle."

Blaise brushed a curl away from his face and smiled at Harry. "I know what you're thinking."

He leaned in towards Harry and pulled him in. Harry breathed in that sweet scent, took in Blaise's smile that reached into his eyes and was just for Harry. And then they kissed, long and hard and passionate. Harry pulled away breathless.

They resumed watching the game, smirking at the stares they felt from people watching them nearby, and Harry reached over to hold Blaise's hand. It was warm and gentle, and Harry hoped he would get to keep holding it, "tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow", like that play by Shakespeare.

He said that aloud, even if it was cheesy and silly, because he wanted to be open with Blaise, not hiding his feelings. Blaise pulled his Omnioculars away and looked at Harry.

"Yes," he said. "Me, too. Remember your promise, Harry? About your being mine? Well, I'll make you a promise – that you'll have me, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow."

They sealed it with a kiss.

THE END


End file.
